Garden of Eden
by TheLoneVictor468
Summary: We all know about how the mockingjay pin has been through three Games and three arenas. What we don't know is its origins with its original owner and everything they went through. Join Maysilee Donner, a tribute of the second Quarter Quell, as she struggles through the Fiftieth Hunger Games and encounters some familiar faces. [Complete]
1. Part I

**Disclaimer - The characters and the universe in which they live belong entirely to the brilliant Suzanne Collins; not me.**

Part I

The Tributes


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It is to the sound of my canary, Melody, that I wake up to as the sun makes its ascent in the east. Dragging my legs over the bed, I rush towards the birdcage by the window to quieten her down.

Once she is silent, I turn to the bed directly across the one I had just occupied to see Meredith my sister still sleeping. Breathing a sigh of relief, my attention is then reverted back on the canary.

"Melody, you know you're not supposed to do that today. We hardly ever get any sleep the night before the reaping as it is."

The damn reaping.

My stomach tightens at the thought of it; the thought of what all twelve districts in the country of Panem are forced to do on an annual basis by those who rule this country in a far off city known as the Capitol.

I dismiss the thought and glance out the window. It's still very early in the morning. The reaping doesn't begin until two in the afternoon. The logical thing would be to try and sleep some more. Despite this knowledge, I'm so full of anticipation that simply just trying to sleep would be pointless. Unbidden, my mind circles back to what the twelve districts are forced to do each year.

Every year, one boy and girl from every district are chosen to compete in a tournament known as the Hunger Games. Where they fight to the death until there is one survivor.

The way to determine who competes and become what are known as tributes is through the reaping, in which anyone from the eligible age of twelve to eighteen has a chance of getting their name drawn from a glass bowl. Those unfortunate enough to be picked are then forced to compete.

This year, being the second Quarter Quell, the Hunger Games have been modified.

I can still remember hearing about this year's game alteration through the reading of the card.

My family and I were gathered around the television in our home above the sweetshop which we own. We were informed at school that that night there would be a programme on television which we were all required to watch. After the news the entire school became anxious as we already knew it could only be related to one thing; the Hunger Games.

So there we were; Meredith, our mother and father, and I crowded around our only television. It's a tiny little thing but I'm not complaining. Many people in the poorer part of where we live in District 12 are worse off than us.

The sound of Panem's national anthem being played blasted through the television. I focused on the screen as President Coriolanus Snow walked on stage.

He looked as he usually did year after year with his small, thin build, snakelike eyes, greying hair, and peculiar white rose pinned on his black suit.

Following behind him was a young girl in a white dress. In her hands was a plain wooden box. The anthem ended shortly afterwards and President Snow began to speak about the Dark Days in which the districts started an uprising against the Capitol. Twelve districts were defeated and the thirteenth entirely destroyed. In order to maintain peace, the Treaty of Treason was created along with new laws. As a result, the Hunger Games was born to be a constant reminder that the Dark Days are never to be repeated. When the laws were first made, they stated that every twenty-five years an anniversary would be marked by what would be known as a Quarter Quell. During which the games would acknowledge the anniversary by implementing a onetime change.

"On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it," President Snow spoke of the previous Quarter Quell.

We became edgier at the prospect of this year's Games but weren't left in anticipation as the president continued, "And now we honour our second Quarter Quell."

The little girl stepped forward, holding the box higher as she opened it to reveal many envelopes set upright. Snow proceeded to take out the envelope marked by a 50 and opened it.

"On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district will be required to send twice as many tributes." Having finished reading the announcement, the president looked directly at the camera and added; "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour." The anthem played once again as President Snow left the stage, tailed behind by the little girl. The last thing shown was the Capitol seal before the screen went blank.

I turned towards my family, completely shell-shocked, and saw the horror reflected on their faces. Meredith had tears forming in her eyes which quickly streamed down her ashen face. Her lips would not cease trembling. Our mother looked alarmingly pale as she stifled a shriek. Her hands shook dramatically. The horror written on our father's face quickly turned to fury. His chest heaved with each carefully composed breath he took as my mother and sister clung to each other tightly. Needless to say not one of us managed to get a decent sleep that night.

Months after that reading of the card and I find myself standing in front of Melody's cage on the morning of the reaping. The canary hops around on her perch, cocking her head to the side and looking at me curiously.

Deciding to take a walk, I open the wardrobe, which my sister and I share, and change into something presentable. I silently walk out the door and into the dark, narrow corridor. Making my way outside I breathe in the fresh morning air, feeling significantly less trapped.

All around the streets are empty. Stores would slowly be preparing to open at this early hour had this been a regular day. But it isn't. It is the day of the reaping where most businesses are closed until after it is over as attendance is mandatory.

Peacekeepers will go around to every house this evening, making sure no one tries to miss the reaping. Anyone caught attempting to do so would be imprisoned, with the exception of the dying.

The only place that might be opened is the Hob; an illegal market located in an old abandoned warehouse which used to hold coal.

Subconsciously I walk from the square and merchant sector of District 12 and find myself going closer to the other side. That section of Twelve is nicknamed the Seam and I'm suddenly feeling nervous because my parents would not approve of their daughter going there. Meredith doesn't like the Seam and gladly obeys. I, on the other hand, have always been fascinated by it and those who live there. It's fascinating how those living in the Seam can differ so drastically from those of us from merchant families. Just based on appearance, those from the Seam are easily recognisable by their olive skin, dark hair, and grey eyes. Merchant families, in contrast, have the same fair skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes. I become so distracted and actually don't notice someone until bumping into them.

"I'm sorry," I stutter lamely.

"Why don't you watch where you're going?" demands an angry male voice. I take a step back and recognise Seth Hawthorne. He's in my arithmetic class.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't see you," I try again. His grey eyes flash dangerously and I know immediately that that was the wrong thing to say.

"I suppose us measly Seam brats are below your notice then?" he snarls, acid dripping from every word. I open my mouth, about to deny his accusation but am cut off by another, calmer, voice saying, "Let it go, Seth. It was an accident. She already apologised." It is then I notice Tobey Everdeen; another boy from the Seam, Seth's mate, and a regular trader.

He assists us in finding the flavours and ingredients we need to produce our sweets in exchange for money. It's no secret Tobey goes beyond the high, chain-link fence separating Twelve from the woods, which is illegal to do. The reason he and his father haven't been arrested by Peacekeepers is they also hunt meat and, well, Peacekeepers need to eat too. Being from the poorest of the twelve districts, even those well off can often find food hard to come by. My family, for instance, resorts to eating stale food when there's a shortage of anything adequate to eat. Being the law enforcers of District Twelve does not mean you're exempted either. Peacekeepers therefore generally turn a blind eye on hunting so long as they get fresh meat.

"Stay out of this, Tobey," Seth growls menacingly. He turns back towards me and is about to continue yelling - judging from the glare he sent - when the sound of someone calling my surname interrupts him.

We turn towards the unexpected sound to see someone with curly, dark hair and bright grey eyes. Haymitch Abernathy. He's in several of my classes and occasionally trades around town.

"Yes?" I ask warily, bracing myself for another unjustified verbal assault. Instead he surprises me by saying, "I've got the thing your father wanted and was just about to deliver it to him." Indicating to the tattered handmade satchel strapped at his side, Haymitch looks at me expectantly. I have no idea what he's talking about. Sure, like Tobey, he sometimes assists us by supplying the shop with ingredients. But right now we're not running low on anything. Tobey is just as perplexed as I am, if his one raised eyebrow is any indication.

Seeing my confused look, Haymitch rolls his eyes. "It wouldn't be very ladylike to just let me walk alone now, is it, sweetheart?"

That's when I finally understand. For reasons that are incomprehensible, Haymitch Abernathy is helping me; saving me from this uncomfortable situation I've unwittingly gotten myself into.

Feeling slightly irritated at the name he addressed me, I find my voice again. "I can accompany you if you'd like," I reply evenly.

"There it is. Finally caught on, have you?" Without waiting for an answer, Haymitch walks forward and takes hold of my arm, dragging me along as we briskly make our escape. As we are leaving, however, he stops and turns back to the confused boys we're about to leave behind. "We'll see you two at the reaping," he says. Before they can answer, he begins walking again, taking me along with him, but not before a quiet "hurry up, and don't look back," is whispered in my ear. I flinch at his unexpectedly warm breath on my skin.

When we're far enough, Haymitch lets go my arm and we continue on in silence. I'm about to thank him for helping when he speaks first. "It's Maysilee Donner, isn't it?"

Haymitch can't be blamed for asking. My sister and I are identical twins. Same shade of long, straight blonde hair, blue eyes, even our nose structure is exactly the same. How he managed to correctly guess my name is beyond me. Eventually just putting it down to luck, I find myself nodding mutely. "Thanks for helping me back there," I hastily add. He gives a nod but otherwise remains silent. "Why'd you do it?" I press on.

"You're going to have to be more specific, sweetheart. I do a lot of things."

"Why'd you help me? You had absolutely no reason to."

"True enough. But I couldn't let our reputation here in the Seam be further damaged, now, could I? You merchant lot already have a low opinion of us."

His presumption that those from town think very little of those from the Seam makes me feel sad and frown simultaneously.

"Is that what you believe? We're not that shallow and simple-minded, are we?"

Haymitch stops so abruptly I almost collide into him. "Simple minded? Of course that's what I believe. I bet you've never had to worry about a thing in your life. Not even the reaping. You've never had to put your name up for tesserae, have you? I'd wager you don't even know what that is."

"I know what tesserae are," I huff out indignantly.

Haymitch continues to walk again. "I'm waiting, sweetheart."

"Fine, I wish you'd stop calling me that already," I grumble, struggling slightly to keep up with his long strides. He just chuckles, causing me to sigh dramatically as I resolve to be a specific as possible, determined to prove this irritating person wrong. "Tesserae is actually the plural term for tessera and is part of an exchanged should you decide to put your name more times in the reaping bowl than is actually necessary. The reason anyone would willingly put in their name extra times for the reaping is because of the aforementioned exchange. Each tessera is a token worthy of an exchange for a meagre year's supply of grain and oil for a single person. Once tesserae have been taken, you are able to collect oil and grain rations once every month for an entire year. You are permitted to put your name for tesserae once for each member of your family. These tessera entries are cumulative, meaning that the number of reaping entries from the current year gets carried over to the next." I turn towards Haymitch, satisfied by that detailed explanation.

"Very good, Donner, it appears you have proven me wrong."

"Well, we _did_ learn this back in the fourth grade or so, Abernathy." Haymitch just gives yet another low chuckle and we walk the rest of the way in companionable silence. Before long the sweetshop looms into view. "We're here." I announce unnecessarily.

"Yes, I can see that, Donner." Haymitch replies as we stand in front of the shop. I clear my throat and thank him again before hastily going inside.

"Get up, Maysilee. Time for breakfast."

Not even remembering how I ended up here to begin with, I open my eyes and sit up in bed. Meredith has her eyes on me. "What?" I ask, a bit uncomfortable by the intensity of her gaze.

"What time did you leave the house this morning?"

I try to contain a yawn. "I've been sleeping."

"Oh, have you? Then I suppose you changed clothes in your sleep. And besides, I saw you through the window, walking with that Abernathy kid."

"And you were supposed to be sleeping, Mrs. Undersee," I counter in an attempt to distract her, armed with the knowledge that she fancies the mayor's son. It seems to work.

"He doesn't like me and you know it," she replies almost wistfully. I shake my head, grinning.

"Whatever you say," I answer in a sceptical tone. "In any case, let's eat breakfast."

After a breakfast of three day old bread, dried fruit, and plenty of water with our parents, Meredith and I take turns washing ourselves up before changing into our reaping clothes.

We wear dresses; hers bright yellow, mine light grey. I add one more thing; a family heirloom. I received it on my tenth birthday from my grandfather. Ever since I was twelve, I've taken to wearing the small golden pin to every reaping; for luck.

We head to the centre of town at a little past one to what could potentially be either Meredith's or my death sentence.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The square is one of the few decent sights District 12 has to offer, being surrounded by shops. Living in one of those stores, it doesn't take long to get there and already it's teeming with the vast majority of Twelve's population.

We head through the crowd and sign in. The reaping is also an effective ruse for the Capitol to get an update on the entire populace. Those that are twelve to eighteen move off to roped areas sectioned according to age, with the older ones closer to the stage in front of the Justice Building. Family members not qualified for the reaping huddle together around the square. Meredith and I walk to the seventeen-year-old section and search for our friend. She finds us first.

"May! Edith! Over here!" We turn to see Jasmine Green. She makes her way over to us, her braided blonde hair catching the sunlight and pink dress giving her the illusion of an angel. Many heads turn just to get a peek at her. Tyson Mellark, the baker's son, looks at her with such adoration. Jasmine always did capture many hearts with her clear blue eyes, flawless skin, attractive smile, and equally beautiful nature. Her knowledge of plants and herbs and healing especially make her a favourite among boys even from the Seam. Being the daughter of merchant apothecaries has given her that advantage.

"Hey, Jasmine, great to see you," says Meredith as way of greeting.

"Yeah, it is. Shame it has to be under such pressing circumstances though," I add.

"Cheer up, May. At least the weather's nice." Jasmine replies with a smile.

"Ever the optimistic one. Guess you're right. Oh, you'll never guess who I ran into this morning," I say, looking around. Ace Cartwright sees me and smiles. His parents own a shoe shop and have been trading with us since we were little. He is mates with Tyson, being neighbours and all.

"Who did you run into?" asks Jasmine politely.

"Your boyfriend Tobey Everdeen," I answer with a grin that only widens as she reddens.

"Someone might hear you, May." She shoves me shyly before turning her head this way and that. "Besides, he's not my boyfriend." Jasmine suddenly finds her shoes interesting.

"But you _do_ like him. Edith tells me you give a generous amount of money to him in exchange for the medicinal plants he finds," I counter with the sly grin still plastered on my face. "The ones you brew into remedies."

"I also heard Hazelle likes that Hawthorne boy," intervenes Meredith helpfully.

"Seth? They'd be a lovely couple," Jasmines says dreamily, pleased with the change in subject.

"Don't know. Can't imagine what she sees in him," I mutter darkly, remembering this morning. Jasmine lightly scolds me while Meredith takes my side. Just like that we forget where we are or what we're doing here. The strike of the clock signalling two and the commencement of the reaping quickly changes that. Jasmine turns to us and says in an urgent tone, "If I get reaped, promise that you won't volunteer in my place."

"You won't get reaped, Jasmine," Meredith consoles, a hint of doubt in her voice.

"Only if you promise not to volunteer in my place," I say solemnly. We exchange tense nods and stare at the temporary stage where a podium, two large glass bowls, and three chairs are set. Mayor Undersee heads towards the podium, leaving District 12's escort newly arrived from the Capitol and Twelve's victor in their seats.

The mayor begins as he does every year; with the history of Panem, about how it was once known as North America. He proceeds by listing the disasters; the droughts, storm, fires and encroaching seas, all of which destroyed much land. Those disasters initiated a war over what little sustenance remained. Panem, a country with thirteen districts ruled by the Capitol, was the result of that brutal war. That eventually led to the Dark Days wherein all thirteen districts rebelled against that Capitol, resulting in the defeat of twelve districts and the complete annihilation of the thirteenth. The Hunger Games was implemented to ensure nothing like that ever happens again.

"It is both a time of repentance and a time for thanks," the Mayor concludes. He then reads the name of past victors of District 12, inviting them forward. In forty-nine years, we've had but one. Konrad Stark.

He originally came from the Seam before that particular reaping that changed his life, but now occupies another part of Twelve. Victor's Village; a separate community lot built for the victors of this district and is approximately a kilometre from the square. There twelve houses were built, eleven of which stand empty. Konrad Stark has lived there for over two decades, having won the Twenty-ninth Hunger Games at the age of seventeen.

Mayor Undersee moves to the side as Konrad takes his place. He begins by reintroducing himself and giving a brief description of how it was that he was able to overcome the odds and thus became a victor. As the only victor of Twelve, we already know much of what Konrad Stark says as our school tend to focus on his Games seeing as how his success brought severely needed glory to District 12. As with any victor, Konrad's triumph in the Games ensured that not only does he have a life of ease back home, but his district was rewarded with gifts for an entire year, much of which consisted of food. Grain, oil, and even delicacies like sugar were just a few among them.

"And even though under my mentorship there has yet to be a single victor, I have a feeling this year will be different. I congratulate the tributes of District 12 in advance and look forward to meeting you. Thank you and may the odds be ever in your favour." Konrad Stark slumps back down in his chair to the sound of our polite but strained applause. Mayor Undersee thanks our victor and calls upon our district escort.

With violet-coloured hair, in a lime green dress, and on extremely high black heels, Wendy Griffin manages to somehow gracefully walk to where the mayor is. With a few quick taps on the microphone on formidably sharp blood-red nails, she welcomes us. She goes on about honour and the exciting adventures which lie ahead for the lucky tributes selected today. No one really listens since we've heard it about a hundred times before. Her strong Capitol accent may also be a contributing factor.

The high pitch of her voice, clipped words, odd vowels and a hiss on the letter _s_ added with the fact that all her sentences end on a high note, making it appear as though she is always asking questions, makes it almost a challenge to comprehend her at all.

Wendy begins the actual reaping with a "Ladies first!" before crossing to the glass bowl. Her hand lingers in it, carefully selecting a folded piece of paper. The square is ghostly quiet now as it always is during this time. Vaguely I am aware of Meredith clutching one of my hands, Jasmine holding the other. I silently hope that none of our names will be read through the inflated yellow lips of Wendy when she moves back, unfolds the paper and calls into the microphone. "Evelyn Vinsmoke!"

I breathe a sigh of relief as an unfamiliar gaunt girl from the thirteen-year-old section with black hair and grey eyes unsteadily makes her way through the crowd. Timidly she climbs the steps and stands next to Wendy. Evelyn bites down on her trembling lower lip as tears fill her eyes. The poor girl is shaking like a leaf.

The tight grip on my hands loosens slightly as both girls beside me relax, feeling safe for another year. Wendy starts for the other glass bowl before stopping as though remembering something and suddenly changing her direction to that of the girls' bowl once more. Confusion sweeps through the crowd before realisation dawns on us. It's the second Quarter Quell; twice the number of tributes. The grip on my hands returns as Wendy snatches up the first paper she comes in contact with. Wendy reads out the name. She calls out mine.

I tense at the sound of my name and the wailing in my ears. My throat feels dry as I feel the eyes of not only every citizen in District 12 trained on the three of us but all of Panem too. These reapings are televised live by the state after all. Jasmine catches me in a sudden hug.

"I have to go. You have to let me go now. I'll be fine." Uttering these words tensely, I pry myself free from Jasmine's hug and Meredith's hand. I robotically and numbly make my way out of the crowd and take my place next to Evelyn. Keeping my face stoic and staring straight ahead, I instruct myself to ignore the sight of my sister and friend clinging to each other. I take deep collected breathes to calm my nerves and to stop the nausea getting worse. My hands shake so badly I place them behind me.

Wendy Griffin continues on without haste, trotting to the glass bowl she has yet to draw two names from. She dips her hand into the bowl and swirls it in the sea of paper for a moment before fishing one out. Once she comes back to the microphone, Wendy repeats the name back into it; "Adam Finch!" Another unfamiliar face makes their way to the stage. As he approaches I note that he came from right at the front of the crowd. _An eighteen-year-old_ , I think with despair. To make things worse, he has the typical Seam look about him. Surely he has had experience hunting. He looks healthy enough with his tall, lean build.

Wendy makes the last trip to the bowl. This time though, she draws a folded paper from the very top of the pile. Having returned to the podium, and after unfolding that paper, she calls on the last of the four tributes of District 12 this year. Of course the name just has to belong to the one and only Haymitch Abernathy.

I spot him among the crowd where I'd been standing, his expression unreadable as he makes his way on stage.

Somewhere amongst the watching crowd, a gaunt yet beautiful woman with dark brown hair and stormy grey eyes sobs loudly once. She becomes unstable on her feet and has to be supported by those nearest her. A young boy in the thirteen-year-old section, who looks remarkably like Haymitch, becomes distressed and has to be held back by his mates when he makes a commotion and catches the attention of Peacekeepers.

Mayor Undersee then dismisses Wendy now that she has done her job. Our escort resumes her seat as the mayor reads the Treaty of Treason. It's standard procedure. We all basically know the Treaty by heart and hence the reason I tune out of listening to it.

All the while my mind is swirling. _Is this all really happening? Or is it just a terrible dream? How long will I last in the Games, facing twice the regular number of opponents? Who are they and what will these opponents look like? What must my family and friends be thinking right now?_

Once the mayor finishes the reading of the Treaty, he invites the tributes to shake hands. We comply and shake hands with one another.

We face towards the crowd once again while the anthem plays and ends.

As per protocol, we are then lead into the Justice Building by Peacekeepers. It will be here where we'll say our final farewells before journeying to the Capitol where they will prepare us for the fight of our lives. We're to take a high-tech Capitol train that averages 250 miles per hour. They are the only trains that pass through our station besides the old models used for transporting coal.

Each tribute is assigned a room where we are to stay for an hour. A Peacekeeper leads me into mine and it's the fanciest room I've ever been in with panelled walls, fluffy carpets, and plush couches and chairs. Heaving a deep sigh, I collapse on one of the couches as the door is reopened. My father, mother, and Meredith enter the room. The Peacekeeper reminds us of the allocated time of three minutes before closing the door.

My parents sit on either side of me before I'm caught in their vice-tight embrace. They never cease telling me how much they love me and are proud of me no matter what happens. Meredith sobs uncontrollably, repeating the words 'I'm sorry' like a mantra.

"I should've volunteered. Should never have allowed you to be here," she adds. As best as possible while caught between our mother and father, I shake my head.

"You did the right thing. We made that promise. I'm glad you kept it. Besides, I'll be fine. You don't have to worry about me." My voice tightens, making me cringe at the sound of it breaking. Looking at Meredith, I try my best to smile as I add jokingly, "besides, what kind of person would allow her sister to take her place?" She exhales with mild amusement, appearing to have calmed down until she sees me fiddling with the pin on my dress. The golden bird gleams as I hold it out to her.

"May, no."

"Yes, take it. I know how much more you like it then the necklace you got."

"You're allowed to bring one thing with you to the Capitol and into the arena; something to remind you of home. Let the token of your district be that pin," she says with great and surprising vigour. I nod mutely as she wordlessly clasps the pin back onto my dress.

"Thank you. Stay strong no matter what you see on that little television screen," I eventually manage to get out after I'm sure my voice won't betray me again. My family tells me they love me and much more. After awhile we fall silent. It's not until a moment later that I work up the courage to talk again. "If I don't make it back, please give Melody to Jasmine. She'll take good care of her. Not that I think you're incapable of doing it but Melody has always liked Jasmine and I know Jasmine likes her too."

"Don't talk like that, Maysilee," my mother says. She looks like she's aged fifty years since the reaping. "Don't talk like you've given up. You can do this. We know you can."

"Your mother is right, May. You're strong and completely capable of winning," my father adds.

I choke back a strangled sound. "You're right but it never hurt to take precautions, don't you agree?"

Before anyone is able to answer, the door is opened by the Peacekeeper.

Instantly my family go hysterical and all rush to hug me for what will probably be the last time. My mother kisses my forehead and my father does the same with the top of my head. I return the favour by kissing them, and even Meredith, on the cheek. Then they reluctantly walk out the door. They don't see how utterly frighten I truly am, and I intend to keep it that way.

I wave until the door is closed and bury my face in my hands. _Just one more person to see_...

As if on cue, the sound of footsteps ring behind the door as Jasmine hastily makes her way over to the couch. We hug tightly and she begins apologising profusely for being too selfish to volunteer. Then the same words of comfort given to Meredith are repeated to her.

She has always been as much of my sister as Meredith is.

Swallowing a lump in my throat, I get on with telling her that Melody is hers if I'm no longer able to look after her myself.

"Maysilee, no! Don't talk like that. You have to at least try to win."

"And I will," I reassure her, "but I already asked my family to pass on Melody to you if I don't return. Promise you'll look after her. There is not any other person I would entrust her to other than you." She nods and sniffles as the two of us hug again. All the while Jasmine is reminding me of everything she has taught me about plants and healing until the door is opened once more. We hug even tighter before Jasmine slowly walks out the door, a sad smile on her face and I know she's been brave for my sake just as I was for her. I lie on the couch, an arm over my eyes, and remain that way until Wendy comes and collects us.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The ride to the train station from the Justice Building is short, punctuated by Evelyn's sniffling and Wendy babbling about the wonders of the Capitol. When we'd first exited the Justice Building, our hyperactive escort explained that since there is twice the amount of tributes this year, two cars will be provided. Wendy, Evelyn, and I went in one while Konrad, Adam, and Haymitch in another. I would've gladly traded with one of the male tributes had I known Wendy would talk as much as she did as something tells me our mentor isn't much of a talker himself.

All throughout District 12, Konrad has a reputation for being a heavy drunk, only ever interacting with the local liquor provider. Fortunately, he somehow manages to stay sober long enough during the Games to try and help his tributes. Although admittedly his assistance is of little reassurance seeing how he hasn't been able to bring home a victor as he so bluntly pointed out.

Our car arrives at the station first and is immediately encircled on all sides by cameras and reporters. Wendy leads us out and we are forced to stand in front of the train while cameras eagerly snap our photo. We remain there for a couple of minutes before a car not unlike the one we were in pulls up near the train tracks. Half the reporters and cameras instantly swarm the car as Konrad steps out followed by our fellow District 12 tributes. Wendy promptly calls them over where we are all forced to tolerate several more minutes in front of the unwanted public. After what feels like a millennium, Wendy finally gives the okay and we file into the train where the door closes behind us silently. The train moves without so much as a jolt.

"Right, I'm sure you'd all like to see your rooms. If you'll follow me, I'd be happy to escort you there," Wendy says with a bright smile on her unnaturally white face. She strides down the train carriage and into the next, where there are six doors; three on either side of the carriage. "Our gallant gentlemen with occupy the rooms on the right side of the compartment while our lovely ladies will occupy the left side. Konrad and I will be taking these two rooms." Our escort says, gesturing to the two doors closest to where we stand. "Adam and Maysilee will vacate the next two rooms down and finally Haymitch and Evelyn will take the last two down the corridor." As she finishes talking, the closest door on our right opens. Konrad stands by the doorframe, hands shoved in the pocket of his trousers. Casually leaning against said door, his penetrating grey eyes scrutinises each tribute forcibly taken under his wings this year.

"Congratulations," he says neutrally, "Twice the amount of tributes this year; twice the chances of winning; or, more likely, twice the amount of deaths on my hands. I suggest you take advantage of all this luxury around you." He gestures around as if we aren't already aware of how luxurious this Capitol train is. "This trip will last less than a day. We'll be at the Capitol tomorrow after breakfast. At which point you'll be placed in the hands of your prep team and stylist. They're there to make you look presentable for the night's opening ceremonies, so try not to resist them too much. I assure you, you will not like what they'll do to you at all but try to behave." With that said Konrad steps back from the door before closing it again.

"You heard your mentor. Enjoy everything this train has to offer until we reach the Capitol. In your rooms you shall find a draw full of garments which you are free to change into at your leisure. Supper will be in an hour," Wendy adds before disappearing into her own room.

Adam, Haymitch, and even little Evelyn walk to their respective rooms. I walk into mine and am surprised by how big it is. There is a bathroom through another door in one corner of the room and a huge soft looking bed in another by the window. After lingering in that room for awhile feeling the softness of the bed, testing the water temperature in the bathroom, and browsing through the draw Wendy mentioned, I decide to go exploring the entire train, wandering into the next carriage. This one appears to be the dining area where a massive table with six chairs surrounding it takes up the majority of the space. True to her word, the table is being set up for dinner by several Capitol attendants and looks to be ready soon. Not wanting to get in their way, I move along. The next compartment is what appears to be the viewing room; with a wide flat screen television hanging on the wall, a large cushiony couch, and an arm chair on either side of it. Between the couches and television is a coffee table with a remote control placed on its glass surface. Sitting on the couch I idly test buttons on the remote until the sound of a door opening causes me to look away from a scene of a previous game - where a girl gouges out an enemy's eye before thrusting a dagger in his heart - and look over my shoulder.

"That eager to start the Games are we, Blondie?" Konrad Stark asks with a mildly amused expression on his thin and stubbled face.

"Perhaps I am. What's it to you?"

"There's plenty of time for gore later. Griffin wanted me to find you, is all. Supper is about to start." Turning off the television, I follow Konrad into the dining area.

"There you are, Maysilee. I was wondering where you went off to. Take a seat," Wendy says upon seeing me. Konrad takes the chair at the head of the table, our escort at the other end. Heeding Wendy's command, I take the only empty seat left. Dinner is served in courses of rich food consisting of tomato soup, Caesar salad, roast geese stuffed with mushrooms and onion with a side of mashed potatoes, lemon cakes, and freshly baked apple pie.

"Let's begin with introductions, shall we? Start with name and then what it is you're good at. Keeping in mind that you don't have to share anything you don't want to while in the presence of the others." Konrad suggests as Capitol attendants bring out the roast geese. He points a dinner knife at Adam. "You can start us off. Go." Adam is stunned momentarily before answering.

"It's Adam Finch. I'm decent with a pick axe, I guess. Snares prove to be a bit of a challenge for me most of the time but I know the basics of it." Apart from the sound of his voice, the only other sound that can be heard is the clatter of cutlery on plate.

It takes me a moment to register that it is only the sound of the two adults and my knife and fork. The other tributes are attacking their food with their hands, causing Wendy to purse her lips.

Konrad nods in approval at Adam before pointing at Haymitch. "You, go."

"I'm practiced with knives and am trained at tracking animals. Trapping comes easily enough to me."

Our mentor quickly swallows a mouthful of food. "And what's your name, boy?"

Haymitch snorts. "You expect us to believe you care enough to want to know our names?"

"What you believe is of none of my concern. Now I seem to recall asking your name," Konrad replies coolly after regarding Haymitch with a curious expression.

"Haymitch. Haymitch Abernathy," he finally relents, albeit grudgingly.

"Well now that that's settled, you, go." Konrad's knife is pointed at me.

"Maysilee. Maysilee Donner."

"And...?" Konrad prompts before bringing food to his mouth.

"And that's it. I can't do anything useful."

Adam laughs contemptuously. "Not unless you consider braiding hair and picking flowers life-saving skills."

Suddenly feeling irritated, I wrack my brain for any skill I possess to prove that I'm not entirely useless.

"Agility; I came second in running during sports activities for the female syndicate," I say triumphantly. "Granted it was only the female syndicate for our year level," I amend, momentarily gesturing towards Haymitch before addressing Konrad with a sudden burst of confidence. "I also have limited knowledge on esculent plants and their healing properties."

Again, he nods. "That's a start. Never underestimate yourself. Other people surely will, and there is your advantage. You're small and lithe enough that others are not like to bother you or see you as a threat." The Capitol attendants are clearing the table and bringing out dessert as Konrad stares at his last tribute. "And last but certainly not least, you, little one. Any special talents you'd like to share with us?" Our mentor says in placid tones at the sight of Evelyn's apprehensive demeanour.

The little tribute pokes at her lemon cake before mumbling, "No, I don't. No special talents at all." Adam clears his throat after a few minutes of silence. "You nearly always won at hide-and-seek back at the community home, didn't you? Think of this as another game but with people you've never played with before." _She's an orphan_ , I realise with shock.

"Adam is right, child. You are even smaller than Maysilee here." Konrad jerks his chin in my direction briefly. "What I've said to her also applies to you. Only you get an even bigger advantage. You have an edge that no one else has." Evelyn brightens at his statement and eats her lemon cake with new enthusiasm.

After everyone has eaten all we can, Wendy tells us it's time to watch the recap of the reapings which had been stretched throughout the day. This was done so a person may supposedly see the entire thing live, but it's only the people in the Capitol who are able to do that; considering they don't need to attend any reapings themselves.

We move to the room with the television and watch as each tribute from each district is called up one by one. As to be expected, the volunteers mainly come from Districts 1, 2 and 4; all monstrously huge. The sight of an enormous blonde girl from District 1 causes Evelyn to whimper. A rather arrogant-looking boy from District 2 flashes a smirk towards the camera. The boys from District 7 look so similar there's no denying they are brothers. There is an overwhelming amount of tributes this year.

Finally the familiar shabby stage and buildings slashed with banners appears. The district itself seems to be covered in a layer of coal dust and emit a sense of gloom. Evelyn is called to the stage where I too take my place after prying myself gently from Jasmine and Meredith. Adam's name is drawn and Haymitch not long afterwards. We all shake hands and then the anthem is played. The commentators sound relieved that the recaps are finally over too as they thank their audience for tuning in and bid them a good night. With that the programme ends.

"So what do you think of the competition?" Konrad turns towards his tributes.

"The girl from District 1 is scary," Evelyn confesses in a timorous tone.

"You need not worry about her, sweetling. We've already agreed that she won't bother you," Wendy consoles the little girl almost condescendingly. "Well I think that's enough excitement for one day. Why don't we call it a night, hmm?" She leads us two carriages away, informs us that she will wake us for breakfast, before bidding us sweet dreams and scuttling back to her bedroom.

Quickly changing into something more comfortable, I climb under the blankets, hoping not to be plagued by any nightmares.

Dawn is breaking when several raps on the door rouses me. Then Wendy says breakfast will be served shortly. I shrug into a shirt and warm jacket with a fur-lined hood before slipping on trousers and shoes. Lastly I find my pin.

Only Konrad and Wendy are in the dinning carriage, sitting in their usual seats. As soon as I resume my own an Avox serves an enormous plate of pancakes, sausages, scrambled eggs, and toast smeared with jam. Set in the centre of the table is also a huge bowl of fruits and a basket of rolls. Several jugs filled with different coloured liquids are placed between bowl and basket. Wendy explains what each jug holds, pointing to each in turn. I help myself to a glass of orange juice having never had any before. "You never said what you thought of your competitors, Maysilee," Konrad observes.

The toast is halfway to my mouth and so I lower it before answering. "The Careers look arrogant, pretentious, well fed, and prepared as ever." I shrug nonchalantly. "But that's only to be expected. They train their entire lives, don't they? Their whole lives have been leading up to this moment."

The Career Tributes, or simply the Careers, in question are those tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4. At least that's what they're referred to back in Twleve. More often than not, the victor comes from one of those districts.

"Even I can't speak for what those district kids do prior to being reaped. Nevertheless you are better off assuming they are training even as we speak," Konrad admits.

"Even though it technically violates rules regarding training before one reaching the Capitol," I state.

"Yes, even though it technically violates rules regarding training before one reaching the Capitol." He concedes, smiling, as I take a bite of toast. "You don't appear terrified out of your mind. Tell me, what do you think your chances of winning are?"

"And just how will you gaining that information benefit either one of us?" I shoot back after a swallow of toast.

"Knowledge can be a powerful thing," Konrad says simply. "Be that as it may, I'm still here to give you advice and keep you alive for as long as possible. You seem like an intelligent person. Allow me to give you advice to mull over. Trust no one. Share your plans with anybody and you're indisputably setting yourself up for betrayal." He spears a sausage with his fork before taking a bite.

I consider his words. "So you're implying that forming an alliance is the worst possible strategy."

"Not so much; no. Just as I've said. Trust no one."

I frown at him. "Now you're just contradicting yourself. You can't have an alliance without trust."

"She has you there." Haymitch is repressing a smile as he assumes his seat, before taking a bite of toast. He's in the same black shoes, trousers, mildly dirty white shirt, and suspenders as the day before.

"So the two who aren't even supposed to be here are the first to arrive, are they?" Konrad muses. That never occurred to me. If it weren't for the Quell, neither of us would even be here. Haymitch doesn't like that thought anymore than I do. His jaw clenches.

I try to steer the topic elsewhere. "So have you got any more advice?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." Konrad pushes back strands of brown hair from in his eyes. "Know your opponents. You're smart and observant. Know their strengths and weaknesses, their way of thinking. Then you'll be able to predict their next move."

Adam and Evelyn enter the dining carriage then. While we eat, Wendy informs us on what we will expect upon entering the Capitol. "Because there is twice the amount of contestants this year, there are not nearly enough stylists or prep teams. As such, there will be two stylists and their assistants; four in total. You will each be assigned one of these four main stylists. Your prep teams will consist of three people as is the usual custom. The only difference is that they will be a mixture of experienced workers and those in training. They've been mixed together making it even, so you shouldn't be able to discern at all who are experienced and who are still in training."

Suddenly darkness fills the train. The carriage itself would have been completely dark had it not been for the crystal chandeliers. Evelyn's eyes go wide.

"Don't be afraid, Evelyn. It's just the tunnel," Adam offers.

The little girl snaps her head in his direction. "Tunnel?" she echoes.

Adam nods. "Sure. You remember the weekly history of Panem lectures, don't you?"

"Of course," Evelyn nods slowly, "the Capitol is protected by the mountains, which forms a natural barrier between it and the eastern districts."

"That's right," Konrad adds, "it's virtually impossible to enter the city from the east besides through this tunnel and it was predominantly due to this geographic advantage that the Capitol emerged triumphant from the war. The rebels had little choice save for scaling the mountains, meaning they were apt to being easy target for the Capitol's air forces."

It was around this time that sudden light reappeared in the compartment and the train begins to slow its pace. Evelyn shuffles about, peeks out a window, and then gasps in awe. Curiosity getting the rest of us, we follow Evelyn and are met with the most incredible sight we've ever witnessed in our short lives. Transparent buildings glisten and stretch up high in the sky, while flashy bright cars whisk about in wide paved streets. People similar to Wendy in style sport painted faces, multicoloured hair, and absurd looking clothes of feathers, leather, cotton, wool, chains, and things even a daughter of a merchant from District 12 could not begin to name. The strange looking people crowd the sterile-clean streets and call excitedly as they see a tribute train making its way through the city. Adam and Haymitch quickly lose interest and settle back to their breakfast. Within several minutes the train stops at the station, blocking us from view of those eagerly awaiting our deaths. Wendy and Konrad lead us to the front of the train. I step off the first and last train I'm ever like to ride.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Three hours. Three hours or near enough to make no matter; that's how long I've been suck in this Remake Centre, having teeth whitened and hair removed from every inch of my body, save the essential places. And that was _after_ I'd been scrubbed down in strong smelling foam and my nails were filed into shape. Three bizarre people, as eccentric as the crowd gathered for the tribute train, hover around trying to make me look somewhat presentable, under the watchful eye of Alex. As a stylist, Alex is charged with ensuring we arrive at the opening ceremonies reflecting the principle industry of District 12: coal mining.

Aminta, a woman with short spiky hot pink hair and purple nails half as long as her fingers, brushes my hair with unnecessary force. I resist the urge to wince in pain as she talks animatedly with Alexis, who runs slender fingers gently over my skin, applying lotion that alleviates the agony that comes from having hair painfully waxed off. My red skin soon turns pinkish as Alexis dutifully continues applying more cream, her wavy green fringe constantly falling across dark red eyes. A man who introduced himself as Aiakos gives my nails a coat of clear paint that causes them to shine brightly. Upon meeting my prep team and stylist, Aiakos was the first to draw my eyes, with metallic silver hair that falls to his waist and dark blue tattoos that cover half his face. Aiakos quietly consults Alex every so often while the women gossip mindlessly. They attempted getting me to talk but it wasn't until only half an hour ago that they stopped, having given up and grown tired of my short, curt responses. They don't seem to like me much after that. It doesn't bother me. It's hard to care when you're forced to stand naked in front of strangers with only a few short moments of reprieve of wearing a thin robe.

Once Alex is satisfied with what he sees, he dismisses my prep team and tells me to put my robe on. I comply and follow him into a sitting room furnished with two armchairs and a low table. The room has three walls. The fourth is completely glass from ceiling to floor; creating a window to the city. Outside, the sun heads towards noon and the orange light reflects off the crystal buildings that form the Capitol. We take a seat and Alex pushes a button on the side of the table. The moment he does, the table surface splits open to reveal a second laden with our lunch as it rises and assumes the place of the previous top. The sight of crepes with strawberries and cream, salmon cream cheese sandwiches, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, buttermilk scones, and blueberry muffins fills me with anger rather than wonderment. Here food is accessed with just a simple push of a button while districts like 12 are either starving or barely scraping by.

Alex must have seen my thoughts reflected in my expression. "Is something the matter, Maysilee?" I try my hands on a sandwich and notice his eyes on me. One is black and the other green. His navy blue hair is tied in a ponytail and his skin is covered in a layer of pink glitter.

"No, not at all," I say, taking a bite of the sandwich to reassure him.

"That's a relief. So tell me, Maysilee, you're from District 12, aren't you?"

I nod once. "Uh-huh."

"How do you feel about wearing a hard hat with a lamp on it?" Alex asks so hopefully I try not to show my displeasure. Being from the mining district, every year District 12 tributes always end up in coal miner outfits. The stylists are hardly to blame. The mining district scarcely has anything to work with. Not compared to District 1 which creates luxury items for the Capitol, or District 3's industry of electronics, District 4 and fishing, and District 8 with their textiles.

I'm dressed in a skimpy overall that stops mid thigh and a low cut white singlet that leaves little to the imagination within a few hours. My hair is intricately braided and falls over my right shoulder. A yellow hard hat, with a headlamp strapped to the front of it, sits up top my head. Wearing short boots that add several inches to a person's height, I struggle desperately not to stumble. My only solace is that they allow me to wear the family pin. Alexis unevenly coated me in black powder and something shiny. To give the illusion of coal dust, grime, and sweat she explained cheerfully. _So what was the point of washing and scrubbing my body for an hour and a half?_ I think bitterly. _I was already covered in grime and coal dust before you achingly flayed several layers off my skin._ Scowling, I'm forced to wait for the other District 12 tributes to arrive. Evelyn is the first. She dresses similarly to me. Only her overall ends just above the knee, she wears a white shirt, her hair is down, and her shoes aren't pointed and look comfortable - judging from the easy way she runs around in them. Adam and Haymitch arrive soon after, garbed in similar outfits. Like us they are clad in a minor's hat, fingerless gloves, and overalls; only theirs is full lengthened. They wear sturdy practical boots. Haymitch has a white singlet under his overalls whereas Adam wears nothing at all. His ripped muscles accentuated by the products his prep team applied on his body. They're accompanied by their stylists, each more flamboyant than the last.

We're taken to what is essentially one massive stable at the ground floor of the Remake Centre. Here our tour of the city commences and ends at the City Circle, where they will welcome us, play the anthem, and conduct us to the Training Centre; all of which will be broadcasted live and watched by every district. The chariots tributes ride in are twice the normal size this year, supporting twice the regular amount of passengers. Wendy and Konrad appear from further within the stable, waving us over. As we walk, several tributes already in their chariot spot us and nudge each other, snickering. Ignoring them as best we can we're arranged into position on the chariot by Alex and Adam's stylist, whose entire skin is tattooed in the pattern of a jaguar. Konrad consults the other adults.

Before long, the opening music blasts throughout the city. "This will be the first time potential sponsors get a good look at you," Konrad says just as massive oak doors open to reveal the crowd-lined streets beyond. "Make a good impression out there. Remember; all of Panem will be watching."

District 1 is the first through the door and the crowd erupts in madness. They have always been a favourite of the Capitol.

The next chariot to enter the city belongs to that of District 2. Between the blaring music and thunderous roar of the crowd, my eardrums throb painfully, as more and more chariots are driven forward by their horses. So well trained are they that the horses require no rider to guide them on their way. A sudden jerk indicates that we are moving and sure enough we come into full view of the entire country. For the most part the applause does not dwindle as I was expecting it to upon our appearance. That means little and less, though, as a look at one of the many enormous screens placed around the city reveals my worst fear. They rarely show District 12 but rather focus on all those ahead of us. Evelyn doesn't let that deter her. The little girl waves wildly and smiles broadly to those few who spare a glimpse at us. I curiously eye the heartless, deplorable audience and allow a more restrained one-handed wave and the tiniest hint of a smile. It won't do for potential sponsors to know how much one truly despises them. Evelyn and I seem to have a better grip on controlling our emotions than the other two, who couldn't appear more awkward even if they tried.

Our coal-black horses turn a curve and suddenly the City Circle comes into view. _Has it been twenty minutes already?_ The chariots strategically line the loop forming the Circle, where the windows of the surrounding buildings are reserved for only the most prestigious Capitol citizens. The president's mansion is where all the chariots are facing as the music diminishes into relative silence.

President Snow formally and officially welcomes this year's tributes to the Quell from his balcony. During his speech, it's traditional for the screens to cut to each tribute chariot. Predictably District 12 scarcely has any screen time. The national anthem plays at the conclusion of the speech and the horses take us one final lap around the City Circle before leading the chariots to our temporary home until the launch of the Games.

The doors of the Training Centre closes after our chariot arrives last, the other tributes already making their way to the elevators that will take them to their floors. Our escort and mentor are there and lead us to the elevators. We get an elevator to ourselves being the last to arrive, for which I am eternally gratified.

Wendy explains that all that is required to make the elevator move is to press the number of the district you are from. "And seeing as how you're from District 12, we get to stay on the top floor!" she adds with insufferable enthusiasm.

I ignore her and focus on the glass walls of the elevator. Looking down, the ground floor and the people there become smaller and smaller as we go higher and higher up.

Once on the twelfth floor we are shown our sleeping quarters. As can be expected of the Capitol, the new rooms are huge and lavishly furnished. A massive wardrobe of wooden oak stands off to one side of the room with a matching vanity table next to it. The shower has baby blue tiled walls on two sides, one clear side of glass, and a sliding door also made of glass. Inside the shower there are numerous bottles of different colours each labelled 'shampoo', 'conditioner', 'moisturiser', and 'soap'; each with different scents ranging from fruits to the synthetic. There is a gun-shaped inanimate object labelled 'blow-drier' which supposedly dries wet hair in virtually a second. The towels are of the softest quality and kept on a constantly heated towel rack. There is a menu list next to which a black shiny phone is placed which automatically connects to room service. I decide to try out the shower and wound up using coconut-scented soap.

After wiping off all evidence of the opening ceremonies I dress just as Wendy summons us for supper.

The table is big enough to seat twice our number which is just as well seeing as our stylists are to join us. Once everyone is at the table an unnervingly silent man in a white tunic comes around offering each of us a glass of wine. I decline the offer and instead pour myself a glass of a bubbling black soda Alex labelled Coke, listening to the praise Wendy is showering the stylists on our costumes. Dinner is served by silent young men and women, all wearing white tunics, in a blur of pumpkin soup, spicy chicken stew, buffalo mozzarella lasagne, apple berry crumble, and cookie and cream flavoured ice cream.

Supper is mainly uneventful until Evelyn took it upon herself to ask one of the younger severing women what her name is after first introducing herself. The woman looks at her with dull lifeless eyes before turning them to the adults at the table.

"Don't waste time talking to an Avox, Lyn," Evelyn's stylist says. "They've had their tongue removed for committing certain crimes. They shouldn't be spoken to unless it's to give a command." And on that note we finish supper before being led into a sitting room where the rerun of the opening ceremonies is televised. The only real conversation transpires between the two seasoned stylists testing the knowledge of their trainees.

"What industry does District 7 specialise in?"Alex asks.

"Lumber and paper," Evelyn's stylist says without missing a beat.

"Excellent. What of District 10?"

"Livestock." This from Haymitch's stylist.

"Fantastic. And District 11?"

"Agriculture."

"Right again. And District 13?"

There was a moment's pause. "District 13 is gone. What does it matter what they specialised in fifty years ago?"

"Just answer the question," was the slightly impatient response of Adam's stylist.

"Nuclear technology; they used to mine graphite."

"No point in dwelling on the past. Let's look to the future. By which I mean tomorrow, when your first training session will begin," Wendy states exuberantly as the chariots on screen are moving towards the Training Centre. "Best get a good night's rest."

We take that as our cue to leave despite the adults making no attempt of getting up themselves.

Standing in front my door I notice Haymitch heading up a flight of stairs. His room is most definitely not up there. Wendy placed him in the bedchamber left of mine, with Evelyn on the right side. Shrugging it off, I push through my door and take off my shoes before changing into something more sleep-appropriate.

It feels like I've only just closed my eyes when it's time to get up for another day. Dragging my legs towards the bathroom I prepare to take a shower, stepping out of my clothes and choosing soaps that soon have my hair smelling of pear. Back in the bedroom, a thick blue shirt with a hood and three quarter black leggings are hanged in front of the wardrobe. I dress in those, tie my hair into a tight ponytail, and head to breakfast. Konrad and Haymitch are sitting with plates of food in front of them. Apart from their plates, the mahogany table is empty.

Konrad sees me first. "Maysilee, it's good to see you up so early. Help yourself to whatever looks appealing to you." He gestures towards a long table laden with no less than twenty different dishes, situated against a wall.

"Thanks, I will." Offering him a tiny smile, I accept a plate from an Avox standing beside the long table of food. French toast, bacon and eggs, hash browns, croissants, and a bowl of strawberries with melted chocolate for dipping are all placed on my plate before I return to the table. Haymitch eyes my plate with a glint of mild amusement. "There a particular reason the sight of my plate amuses you so?"

"No reason," he says, scooping the contents of a soft-boiled egg, "only I never realised you have quite the appetite until now." _Is he mocking me?_

"Eating is good. Look at her. She can afford to gain more weight. And so can you, come to think about it. You've seen how enormous some of your competitors are." Haymitch and I stare at Konrad, clinging to his every word, as he sips coffee.

I dip a strawberry and plop it into my mouth.

"What's your opinion regarding the opening ceremonies?" Konrad inhales thoughtfully, which is a bad sign.

"That bad?"

"No, I'm certain we were mesmerising," Haymitch intervenes with sarcasm, adding an eye roll for empathises.

Konrad clears his throat. "Evelyn did a miraculous job, for starters. Maysilee did acceptably. You boys, though, could have at least put in some effort. Give me _something_ to work with here."

Soon Evelyn and then Adam join us for breakfast.

Konrad waits for everyone to settle and are fit to listen before making any announcements. "Come ten, Wendy will expect all of you at the elevators for training. And you should know she doesn't tolerate tardiness." _That's an understatement._

"These next three days are all about training and survival skills," he continues. "The afternoon of the third day you are to perform in private for the Gamemakers. My advice for the time being is not to show the other tributes what your strengths are. Save that for the Gamemakers."

Afterwards there is still time before training begins and so I use that time for training on my own. The next hour is spent doing push-ups, dips, sit-ups, and other calisthenic exercises. Ten comes around sooner than I would like but seeing as training is imperative, there's nothing for it but to meet at the elevators at the designated time.

Once the elevator descends, the nerves come rushing at the prospect of facing the other tributes. It's all I can do to focus on my breathing.

In less than a minute, the elevator comes to an abrupt stop with a _ding. And so begins day one of training_ , I think as the doors open.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The elevators, it turns out, took us below ground level for that is where the actual training rooms are located. To judge from the tribute circle formed, just about every other district has arrived already. Stepping into what can only be described as a giant gymnasium, we're pinned on our shirt a cloth with the number 12 on it. The other tributes have their district number displayed visibly too. We join the circle as the young head trainer, Atala, goes through the rules and training schedule. There are different stations in which an expert in that field will be situated. We're free to go to any station we so choose, in accordance with our mentor's direction. Several stations specialises in survival skills, while fighting techniques at others. Any engagement of combative exercises with another tribute is prohibited. That's what assistants are for.

As the names of skill stations available are being read, it becomes increasingly harder not to take notice of the others around the circle. Upon reflection I realise that's exactly what needs to be done. _Know your opponents. Know their strengths and weaknesses, their way of thinking. Then you'll be able to predict their next move_ , I can practically hear Konrad saying once more.

Just as during the recap of the reaping and opening ceremonies, I'm struck by the sheer number of tributes. Seeing something on screen and seeing something before your eyes are two different things though. It suddenly becomes so real now. Though not as strong-looking, most of the older boys are of a height with Adam. The only ones that dwarf even him are the Careers. A single glimpse at the brothers from district 7 and my thoughts automatically go to Meredith and Jasmine. Only now does it occur to me just how fortunate we are. Wendy could have easily read one of our names and then the other. _Then it would've been either Meredith or Jasmine here with me. Not Evelyn_. Automatically I look over at her just to make certain that neither my sister nor best friend is here. Evelyn is so small compared to even the other females gathered here. Of course there are other younger girls but the majority are older. Many appear even more malnourished than me, though certainly no shorter. Naturally the female Careers are no less intimidating than their male counterparts. Up close the girl from District One that Evelyn admitted to being scared of looks just as threatening. I've no doubt these Career girls know somewhere between twenty different ways to kill with a knife.

My theory is proven right when, just as we're dismissed, they congregate around the lethal-looking weapons, handling them as though they were born to wield it. Curiously, the girl from 1 chooses the big, heavy axe, which is something one would justifiably expect of someone from 7. _She's using her left hand_. The girl must be short-sighted for she only attacks the dummy at a close range, never letting go of her formidable weapon.

A hand appears in front of me and fingers snap sharply, as though calling me back from hypnosis.

"What?" I snap mildly, before realising who the culprit is. "Haymitch?" My features change from hard to bewilderment.

He leans in close so as not to be overheard, though by now everyone have scattered amongst the training room already. "Analyse them all you want. But at least be inconspicuous about it, Donner."

As though drawn by his words, a tribute from 2 looks over at us. He flashes an arrogant smirk before elbowing his partner. The partner crosses her arm over her chest, the small throwing axe in her hand glinting menacingly. Refusing to cower under their mocking grins, I lift my chin defiantly in their direction, daring them to do their worst. The boy hawks, turns to his right, and spits, whist the girl shifts her position so that one hand is placed on her hips, the other tossing the axe carelessly yet catching it deftly. It's then that her partner notices something and shakes his head. He places a hand on her shoulder before saying something in her ear, his eyes darting from our direction to something behind us. _Leave them be for now. They're not worth our acknowledgement_ , they seemed to say. The girl's gaze follows where her partner's keeps looking before reluctantly nodding her head, turning away, and throwing the axe right on the bullseyes. Turning in the direction the two from 2 were looking at reveals what caused them to back off. Up in the elevated stands bordering the gymnasium, twenty men and women dressed in purple robes gaze down on the tributes. The Gamemakers have arrived. I am in the process of pointing as much out to Haymitch but realise he's halfway to the rope-climbing station already. Looking down I realise my hands are shaking slightly. _What a terrible habit_ , I mentally chide, making my way to the edible plants station. Seeing as it has been almost completely neglected by the other tributes, identifying plants that are safe and which are not safe to eat seems most appealing by far. Once I'm relatively pleased with the result of the edible plants test, my next stop is camouflage, where the next hour and a half is dedicated to improving my art skills. Or so it seems to me. Nonetheless, the instructor there is extremely nice and gives really useful tips.

It is the instructor at camouflage that informs me that lunch is being served at the dining hall off the gymnasium. Lunch is placed around the room on carts, where tributes serve themselves. The tributes are mainly scattered around, trying to remain obscure. After getting several choice items off a couple of carts, I find a vacant table, where my observation is able to continue without any disturbance. The Careers of 1, 2, and 4 join enough tables together to accommodate their large number. They chatter raucously or leer at passing tributes, evidently intimidating everyone else not in their exclusive group. Evelyn is a few tables away, with two of the younger District 11 tributes with her. They have the typical dark skin and golden-brown eyes of those from 11. Years of watching the Games have exposed us to the physical differences of the other districts, so it's easy to distinguish even without the numbered cloths. Adam is at another table, along with some tributes from 5, 7, and 10. Including Adam, that table is surrounded by six tributes. I chew my bottom lip. _Alliances may be forming already, and here I am sitting without a single acquaintance_.

And Haymitch is nowhere to be seen.

After lunch its back to the gymnasium, where the afternoon is spent learning to decipher maps, start fires, tie knots, make snares, and generally avoiding while discreetly analysing the other tributes. A few glances every now and then in their direction confirm that the Gamemakers are here from the start of our training session until the end of it. Chances are that they will be here once more tomorrow, which is partly the reason why my main focus for the next day will be on weapons.

Dinner is held back on our level of the twelfth floor, to my immense relief. Konrad instantly asks us about our training session and what went on down there. We take turns recounting our training schedule, stopping every now and then when our mentor has some useful advice to share, with Wendy attempting to contribute to the conversation. When there has been nothing but several minutes of silent eating, I turn towards Konrad. "How do you propose on getting us sponsorship?"

It is the mentor and escort's task to gather sponsors from the Capitol for their tributes. These sponsors give their sponsorship in the form of money, which is used on donations that can range from medicine to food to just about anything, within reason. Districts are able to show their support too, with families and friends donating money in the hopes of helping their loved ones.

I'm particularly interested in our mentor's response seeing how it will be he who seals sponsorship deals.

Konrad considers this question for a moment before answering. "First thing you need to know is that sponsors determine which tributes are worth wagering money on based on their first impression at the opening ceremonies, training scores, impression in the interviews, performance in the arena, as well as other determining factors."

I exhale in exasperation. "Fantastic. And we've already established the extent to which we impressed the Capitol during the opening ceremonies. We're doomed."

"Not necessarily. Don't forget that there are still the training scores and interviews to be determined," Konrad consoles.

With new resolve, the first station I try out the next day is archery, where the best part of an hour passes before an arrow even makes a solid landing on the target.

The second day smoothly follows the routine of the first, with the exception of the small conversation in the elevator on the way down to the training area.

Evelyn had pointed at my shirt. "Why do you wear that pin?" Looking downwards, I noted the pin there. I've taken to wearing it everywhere that I don't even recall pinning it on anymore.

"The pin is my district token that has been in my family for generations."

"It's beautiful."

"Thank you. Do you know what type of bird it is?"

"It's a mockingjay."

"Right. A mutt accidently created by the Capitol during the rebellion. Animals became nothing but experiments to the Capitol in the attempt to win the war against their adversaries."

"Like the jabberjays birds used to record entire conversations. They were used by the Capitol to memorise and repeat all information of the rebel forces. Only the rebels soon found out and started misinforming the Capitol."

"Precisely, and so, being a solely male species, they were left in the wild to die off. Only they didn't. The jabberjays ultimately mated with female mockingbirds, thus creating an entirely new species known as mockingjays. Although no longer able to enunciate words, they're capable of imitating both bird whistles and human melodies."

"Really? Human melodies too?"

"Absolutely, mockingjays can also be heard emulating human voice ranges."

The archery instructor repositions my body and advises me to release the arrow. It lands as close to the centre of the target as it's ever like to get. I allow a satisfied smile. It is most definitely an improvement. The instructor seems to think so too, complimenting my determination and ability to quickly adapt to learning new skills. Thanking her, I replace the bow before moving off to learn rope-climbing. Learning different climbing techniques, I'm soon able to scale up the rope with ease, albeit a little breathlessly.

That afternoon, knife-throwing is on the agenda, with the Careers now over at the wrestling station. Axe wielding, throwing and making spears, then lifting weights follow after knife-throwing until it's time to head back to our floor.

Dinner is more or less the same as the previous night, with each of us relating our day once more. Then Konrad is reminding us that tomorrow afternoon will be our private session with the Gamemakers. Surprisingly, he does not dictate us on what to do tomorrow, doesn't even ask us what we're planning on doing for our private session.

We're dismissed after supper and I find myself staring at the staircase off to the side of the hall.

"You thinking of exploring the roof?" Konrad seemingly materialises out of nowhere.

"So that's where those flight of stairs lead to. We're permitted up there?"

"Of course, why wouldn't you be allowed?"

I bite the inside of my cheek. "Aren't they afraid a tribute might try to, you know, end it by jumping off the roof?"

It is a surprise to see Konrad smiling so grimly. "That's not possible." He continues at my perplexed expression. "You'll understand if you go up there and see for yourself." Without further explanation, he disappears quietly into his room before shutting the door.

Walking up the stairs, I'm hoping to see what Konrad is referring to as well as _him_. He's been going up there the last couple of nights after supper, thinking no one notices. But I do. Ever since first seeing him climb those stairs several nights ago, curiosity has been eating at me as to what he does up there.

The roof is completely empty. I lean against the railing and look down, a pleasant breeze rustling my hair.

The streets below are a chaos of noise as bizarre people in even stranger attire go about their virtually meaningless lives under a glittering sky of stars. And just above that noise a tiny humming sound. Really focusing on the scenery, something doesn't seem right. _Everything below appears distorted slightly_.

Staring at those I loathe, I find a small pebble in a plot pant and hurl it over the edge in a fit of blind rage. There is a _zap_ sound, and suddenly something is flying back towards the building. Quickly getting out of its range, the pebble narrowly misses hitting me. Starting uncomprehendingly at the ammunition, it takes several long minutes to formulate two words: _force field_.

This causes a scowl to appear on my face. _Small wonder no one bothers to stop any tributes from coming up here_ , I think bitterly.

Turning my back on the scene of the Capitol city, I lean my back against the railing, reflecting on what I've just learnt here. Inevitably my mind wanders to the Gamemakers tomorrow and the private session we are to have with them. The beginning of panic starts as I continue thinking of what to show them and come up completely empty. No matter what comes to mind, nothing feels good enough to impress the Gamemakers into giving me a good score. And here Konrad said that training scores is yet another factor that potential sponsors are particularly interested in. At the thought of him I consider asking Konrad for his advice before realising there's probably nothing he could say or do that'll help anyway, as comforting as it would be seeking out Konrad's advice.

After several more minutes of futile worrying and stress I decide to call it a night. _As least this night wasn't a complete waste of time. There is the recent discovery of the Capitol force field._

Through the door the stairwell is pitch black, where before small flickering lanterns were lit along the walls, illuminating the path. Just an indication as to how long I've been out on the roof for. I yawn into the back of my hand.

Yet another indication of the late hour.

Groping tightly on the icy-cold handlebars I cautiously make my way down the hazardous stairs.

Unsurprisingly the empty hall is in complete and utter darkness too. Without bothering to wait for my eyes to adjust to the pitch darkness, I guide myself along the rough wall, and feel like a blind person until finally making it to the door.

Entering the bedchamber my eyes are almost immediately drawn to the warm-looking bed in the far corner of the room. A shiver runs through my exhausted body before I realise just how cold outside had been, the wind cutting right through my thin shirt.

Dragging my heavy legs quietly across the soft carpet, I sit on the bed, taking off my shoes. I then all but collapse onto the feather-soft bed before hastily crawling under the comfortable blankets. Within mere minutes I'm fast asleep, oblivious of the fact that off to the bathroom the shower is running.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Morning light streams through the gaps in the curtain, forcefully waking me. Sitting up, I rub the sleep from my eyes using the heel of my palm. The unexpected sound of steady breathing sends me into a state of momentary paralysis. I regain enough sense to turn my head in the direction of the sound. Over by the couch is a sleeping figure. It's all I can do not to scream bloody murder right there and then. _Why on Earth is there someone in my room?_

Not taking my eyes off the sight of the slightly lanky figure reclining rather uncomfortably in the sofa, I reach blindingly for the hairbrush on the bedside table should the need for a weapon become necessary. After about a minute I still remain without a weapon. Getting frustrated, I look at the side table expecting to see the Capitol hairbrush and my mockingjay pin, only to see a pawn piece from a chess set in their place.

Upon closer inspection the pawn piece is made of wood, handcrafted with such skill and perfection. The wood is a golden brown colour.

Eyes flicking a couple of times from the pawn to the sleeping form on the couch, realisation hits me like a struck of a lightning bolt. _No stranger is in my room. In fact,_ no one _is there at all._ I'm _the one who intruded into another person's room._

With that realisation comes the sudden need to leave. Placing the pawn piece back down and then practically hopping out of the bed, I swiftly cross the room. Once safely out in the hall, I quietly close the door. My tense body relaxes, feeling safe, until I turn around and give a tiny yelp of surprise and stumble back against the wall. _He's as silent as a ghost_ , I think, heart hammering.

"You were in there the entire night?" Konrad nods meaningfully at the name plaque I missed last night due to the darkness. The doors to each of our rooms have been nailed with our names in fancy calligraphy.

I shake my head vigorously. "No. We were merely discussing potential strategies for the private session with the Gamemakers."

At this point a particularly loud snore sounds from behind the door. I cringe internally, hoping against hope that Konrad didn't hear it. He does.

Any opportunity of steering the conversation elsewhere and distracting Konrad vanishes before it even presents itself when he speaks first. "Look, how you kids choose to spend the night together is scarcely my problem. Just remember it may seem like a good idea fraternising with someone you may ultimately end up facing off with in the arena. But it's not."

Stumbling over my words, I continue shaking my head, trying to explain to Konrad that his assumption is utterly wrong. "No, you're completely misinterpreting the situation. It's-" Before another word can be hopelessly stammered out, an Avox appears and hands Konrad a letter. He reads it and then turns back towards me.

"My sincerest apologies, Maysilee, but I'm needed elsewhere. Urgent business of the tedious kind, you see. Anyway, I'll see you at breakfast," Konrad says. Without further explanation, he walks the length of the corridor before turning a corner.

With a resigned sigh I head back to my proper chambers. I close the door and lean back against it, exhaling once very deeply. Looking down I realised my shoes have been left in the other room. Great.

Within mere minutes I'm standing under a steaming hot shower, scrubbing in grape-scented foamy soap furiously. It is in the shower that vague memories of last night become clearer.

A memory of being shaken awake appears. The strong scent of fresh lemon lime that could only have come from one of the many soaps offered in the shower. Then a voice saying, 'You're in the wrong room, Donner. Get up.' To which there is a mumbled response of, 'Not yet, Edith, five more minutes.' An unmistakeable sound of stifled laugher, then a dramatic sigh, is soon followed by a, 'Just this once. This had better not become a regular thing.'

Having spent enough time getting clean, I dress in the fresh set of clothes that have been laid out in front of the wardrobe.

Replacing the pair of shoes with a new one from the closet, and deciding that I've put off going to breakfast long enough, I open the door. Instantly a familiar pair of shoes neatly placed at the corner of the door catches my attention. Without even having been told who they belong to, I place them back in my room, knowing full well to whom they belong.

Breakfast begins oddly enough with the discovery of Adam already eating alongside Haymitch and our mentor. Stocking a plate up with pinwheels, chocolate muffins, a small bowl of yogurt, a slice of apple tart, and sausage rolls, I place them on the table and reach for the pitcher of orange juice. It is then that a mug of warm milk is set before me.

I give Konrad a quizzical look. "What's this for?"

"I had that milk specially made for you. We don't want any... accidents or complications occurring just before the Games, do we?" He looks down at my lower abdomen pointedly. "You realise that no matter what condition you're in, they'll still make you compete, I trust."

He isn't wrong. Just a few years back a tribute from 9 sustained severe stab wounds caused by another tribute. Thanks to top-notch Capitol treatment, the victim was able to walk away from that attack with hardly a scratch. The same could not be said for the assailant, however. Word quickly got out that the assaulter was later summoned into the presence of the Gamemakers where he met an unfortunate 'accident'. No matter what, the Capitol could do nothing to mend the tribute's broken arm. Curiously enough the arm in question was the stabber's preferred throwing arm and allegedly the one used during the attack. That tribute ended up starting the Games as a broken-arm cripple who still managed to make it to the finial ten, despite the disability.

Suddenly the words 'accidents', 'condition', and 'specially made' make sense. The sight of the warm milk no longer seems so innocent or harmless anymore.

I try getting through to Konrad once more. "Look," I begin with a sigh, "you've misunderstood the situation entirely. Nothing-" Evelyn enters the dining room just then, shattering my weak resolve. I can't seem to find the courage to even bring up the subject.

Making a point of pushing the mug of milk away, I settle for a glass of juice instead. For the duration of breakfast nothing exciting really happens. Konrad's usual run through of the day's schedule is the only real talk around the table. He goes on to explain that the private session with the Gamemakers usually lasts for fifteen minutes or until they deem they've seen enough. But due to the second Quarter Quell demanding twice the amount of tributes, each session is likely to lasts no more than eight minutes.

As we are dismissed from breakfast until having to meet up again for the third and final training session, I cannot help but note that one of the tributes linger behind. Haymitch stops Konrad from leaving, wanting to have a few private words with him. Whatever those words were, Konrad has never once brought up the topic of 'accidents' again, for which I am eternally grateful.

Free time until the training session with the other tributes is spent as usual with intense training in the privacy of my temporary living quarters.

Training down below ground floor begins much the same as any other day. The difference being that during lunch, tributes will begin to be called individually for their private session with the Gamemakers. The males precede the females from each district, starting with the first district and ending with 12.

During the morning of that third day I resolve to try out as many stations as possible, despite the shorter-than-usual time period.

The first station of the morning is shelter building followed by hammock making. Then it's hand-to-hand combat before finishing off with sword fighting.

Shelter building is particularly tricky to grasp the concept of but fortunately the instructor there is a patient teacher. Hammock making is almost easy once the knot weaving skills mastered a few days back are applied. Hand-to-hand combat and sword fighting are both brilliant ways of testing out speed. It turns out that because of my small stature I am fast, making it virtually impossible for any assistant to land a blow on me.

Lunch is signalled approximately twenty minutes into the first aid lesson that I wasn't expecting to do but managed to squeeze in the time for nevertheless.

Eating a tuna sandwich and nachos dipped in sour cream, I sit in an isolated corner, anxiously watching as each tribute gets called. Once their private session is done, they are not required to come back. Meaning as time progresses, the dining room empties. Being from 12 the waiting lasts for hours. I manage to occupy my mind by coming up with potential skills that the Gamemakers might appreciate enough to give an adequate training score for. By the time the second female tribute from ten is called, my mind still has not come up with anything. Evelyn is still with her District 11 group whilst Adam sits at a table eating lunch alone, now that the rest of his group members are gone.

Before long even Evelyn is sitting by herself. Eventually Haymitch is called. I begin to panic as the first of District 12's tribute leaves the room.

Adam gets summoned shortly afterwards.

My name is called eight minutes after Adam left. Steeling my nerves, I march purposefully into the gymnasium and am meant with an unwelcomed sight. It is not difficult to work out that the Gamemakers have been confined in one place for far too long. They've had to endure forty-six other tributes displaying their skills and trying to impress them. Most are drunk and all are impatient, irritable, and would like nothing more than to go home. Deciding how best to gain the attention of these pathetic unprofessional drunks, I look around for some skill to display when the pile of materials, the shelf of heavy weapons, and the archery station catches my interest. Formulating a quickly improvised plan, I grin mischievously.

I head over to the materials piled amongst the floor and within six and a half minutes have constructed a makeshift shelter. Gathering up some leftover wood, I then place them on the ground beside the archery station. Quickly breaking the wood into smaller pieces I arrange them in accordance to my need. I go behind the shelf of heavy objects and lean my bodyweight into it. Just as it seems the plan is never going to work, the shelf rocks slightly. This serves as motivation to push even harder and the next thing I register is the shelf falling forward with a satisfying _crash!_ I turn towards the Gamemakers and am pleased with the response. One, who had passed out, wakes up enough to vomit all over the food on the table. Many are in a frenzy trying to talk over one another now. Others are babbling and gesturing wilding at me. _Now_ that _got their undivided attention_. I clear my throat loudly. "Maysilee Donner of District 12."

Going back to the pile of wood next to the archery station, I rub two sticks together until a fire catches. Picking up a bow and choosing a specific type of arrow that best serves my purpose, I nock and hold the arrow to the fire until that too catches alight. Standing in proper position, I raise the arrow high and aim it at the makeshift shelter. Instantly it bursts into flame. Placing the bow back down, I look over at the now silent and attentive Gamemakers. The big one in the centre in the head Gamemaker's robe stands up. "That will be all, Miss Donner."

I bow in their direction and nod once, lips pursed.

Reaching the elevators, I stand and wait patiently as one of the Avoxes guarding the exit pushes a button and stands aside.

Back on twelve's floor I sneak into the confinement and sanctuary of my room for a nap before anyone is none the wiser of my return.

The nap is disrupted when Wendy knocks on the door saying that supper is about to start. Tonight we are joined by our four stylists. We are first served creamy smoked salmon pasta. Then there are fried snapper with honey mustard sauce on rice, barbecued barramundi, steamed garlic prawns, and the salty fish-shaped loaves of bread tinted green from seaweed that could only have come from District 4.

About halfway through the fried snapper, Konrad questions us candidly. "So how did the four of you go with the Gamemakers?"

"It's hard to say. By the time I was called, they seemed to be more interested in consuming all the food and wine available," Adam offers.

Evelyn chimes in too. "They were all singing and talking amongst themselves rather than paying attention to me like they should have been," she complains with that childlike pout.

"Poor sweetie, now that's just poor manners on behalf of the Gamemakers, isn't it?" Wendy makes a sympathetic noise that does not at all sound genuine. "We'll just have to have a word with them."

"Haymitch," Konrad says around a mouth of food, "Maysilee. Is there anything either one of you would like to add?"

I shrug. "Could've gone worse."

"That's magnificent, Maysilee." Wendy smiles brightly. "Haymitch, how did you go?"

"All right."

After dinner it's straight to the sitting room where training scores are televised. First a tribute's photograph is shown, followed by their training score. Training scores range from one to twelve; one being the shamefully lowest possible score and twelve being the highest.

District by district, each and every tribute have their score announced by Caesar Flickerman, the host of the Hunger Games.

Predictably the Careers all average the eight-to-ten mark. In particular I note that the girl Evelyn is afraid of from One gets a nine.

 _So not just a pretty face, then._

The male tribute from Two who tried to intimidate me gets an eleven. I shiver at that announcement.

The other tributes are awarded with training scores of seven or less.

Another person that stands out is a male tribute from Six. He gets a score of nine. The two from Eleven that have allied themselves with Evelyn are scored four and five. Then Haymitch's photo is shown. In half a heartbeat the number ten is flashing below his image. The entire room erupts in applause with every person congratulating Haymitch on his remarkable achievement.

"Just what did you do?" his stylist asks him, wonderment clearly evident in her voice.

In response he simply smiles crookedly. "That would be telling, now, wouldn't it?"

On screen Adam's photo is shown moments before the number seven appears under it. The applause directed at Adam is noticeably less enthusiastic than that of the tribute before him.

The photograph of Adam is soon replaced by mine.

I turn away, nervous and expecting the absolute worst. Then suddenly Wendy lets out a happy shriek, causing me to look up. Upon seeing the training, my jaw hangs open in pure astonishment.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Lying in bed the image of the number eight blinking repeatedly under my face replays over in my mind. Many pats on the back, congratulatory words, and suffocating hugs followed the announcement of my training score. Wendy clapped enthusiastically and jumped with excitement. Alex even hooted in delight and ruffled my hair affectionately. But it was the look on Adam's face that was priceless. He looked like he had just eaten mouldy bread and now trying to swallow it.

The moment was short lived when the time came to announce the training score of the final tribute of the Fiftieth Hunger Games.

Evelyn's photograph was shown first, followed by her training score of five. The poor girl was in tears just at the sight of it. She was quickly comforted and consoled by all those that surrounded her; each showing her their support. Coming from anyone directly from the Capitol the comfort seemed hollow. Only the words spoken by our mentor felt authentic.

"People only care for high scores," he had remarked, "no one thinks too much for those that score low to average. As far as they know, you may have intentionally gotten a five in a guise to hide your true strength. Anyway, having a high score isn't as splendid as it sounds. That only means that the other tributes are more inclined to target you in the arena. Scores simply signify the potential tributes displayed during training. They do not guarantee or predict who the winner will be." His words worked. Evelyn felt better instantly.

Even after that, it is with the image of Adam's amusing expression that I fall asleep to.

Dawn comes along bringing with it Sunday. Back in Twleve my mother would be making the entire family pancakes on this day off. Thinking of my family and home only strives to motivate me to do my absolute best in the Games. With my training score I might just get sponsors and make it back to them.

Taking a shower in cherry blossom-scented soap, I'm still in a particularly good mood from the events of last night.

Breakfast consists of a bowl of cereal, sliced oranges, two waffles, one hardboiled egg, and doughnuts of different flavours including chocolate, strawberry, caramel, and vanilla.

Once everyone is gathered in the dining room, our mentor and escort begin explaining the day's schedule.

"As you should know, the entire day will be devoted to coaching you for your interviews tomorrow night," begins Konrad, cupping a mug of coffee with both hands. "Now, normally each tribute gets four hours with Wendy and another four with me."

"That's right. I'd coach you on presentation and Konrad on content," Wendy includes, obnoxiously cheerful as ever considering how early in the morning it still is.

"Nothing there will change. The only alteration is that you will have each of us for but two hours. Along with a well deserved four hour break," says Konrad, spreading butter onto a freshly baked muffin.

"We'll begin the day with Konrad coaching Haymitch first. And Maysilee will be with me," Wendy says, turning to us with that plastic smile on her face. "Adam and Evelyn; you two have the next four hours to yourselves. Once our time is up with Haymitch and Maysilee, there'll be a half hours break for lunch before you four switch over. Is everybody clear on the schedule?"

We all make sounds that the two adults take as acquiescence.

After breakfast Wendy leads me into her massive room; thus beginning an _exceptionally_ long two hours.

If I was still remotely in a good mood this morning, that all changed by the end of my time with Wendy. Half the time the only thought that I can seem to conjure is how grateful I am that the duration of this session has been reduced by half.

The first thing Wendy does to start our session is lend me a pair of her high heels and incredibly long gown. Of course they are not the ones I'll be in during the interview but she wants me to gain experience wearing them.

It's already difficult enough as it is simply wearing the high heels without falling over. The damn gown makes another potential hazard for tripping on.

Wendy all but takes it upon herself to coach me to walk as she notices that I'm a tad unstable and wobbly – and generally inexperienced - in heels. Next she instructs me on the proper technique of sitting. Wendy emphasises the importance of keeping one's back straight whist in a chair. Sitting is then preceded by posture.

This includes many wearisome details such as where one's hands and feet should be place, and when the appropriate time for adjusting hair and dress is. All of which she decides to emphasise with demonstrations of sorts.

Then Wendy is grilling me on making more eye contact.

Half way through the session and she's already got me wanting to pull out my hair by the fistful. It seems like every chance she gets, she is more than willing to point out my flaws.

Supposedly I tend to chew my lip or roll my eyes or wrinkle my noise when I'm nervous, irritated, or annoyed.

The worst part is when Wendy attempts to teach 'proper' pronunciation. She's basically ensuring that not only will I be guaranteed to look stupid in front of the nation, but I'll sound equally ridiculous too.

Eventually Wendy calls time on our two hour lesson. Nothing else she may have said at that moment could make me as relieved as I felt right then.

Heading back into the dining room we are shortly joined by Konrad and Haymitch. Quick quiet words are exchanged between escort and mentor before Haymitch and I are made to apprehensively follow them respectively.

Wendy guides Haymitch to his room – to get him into a suit of some kind, I figure – whilst I follow Konrad into the sitting room.

Sitting on the couch opposite to him, I really get a look at District 12's mentor. Up until this very moment I've seldom given Konrad Stark a second thought.

It is common knowledge that his father died during a mine explosion while at work when Konrad was still very young. As an only child it was entirely up to Konrad to look after his terminally ill mother. She was extremely sick even during her son's Games and consequently died one week prior to Konrad being declared District 12's first ever victor. She died never knowing whether or not her only son would have ever made it home to her. It's a wonder Konrad has managed to deal with living in that mansion of a house in Victor's Village completely alone.

When thinking along those lines, one can scarcely blame him for turning to alcohol as a primary source of escape from this hell he now calls life. It certainly beats the alternative. Other victors have been known to resort to other forms of coping with what they had endured in their Games. Such as a narcotic pain killer called morphling, a sort of medicinal drug that can become extremely addictive.

Hearing someone clear their throat, I look up and realise Konrad must've just said something.

"Sorry, could you please reiterate that?" I ask.

"What do you know about these interviews?" he repeats patiently.

Thinking back, I recall anything relating to the interviews that may be relevant. "You mean besides the fact that they're basically a popularity and personality contest?"

"That's the essence of it, yes. So you understand that each tribute commonly displays a specific personally at the interviews."

"Well, yeah. Tributes have an angle they believe will appeal to the audience. Be it fearless or meek or intimidating or quirky; to name a few. These angles are vital because, as you've mentioned before, they are one of the determining factors sponsors consider when betting on their favourite tributes."

Konrad allows a grin. "Couldn't have said it better myself. Now, normally half the standard allocated time is dedicated on trying to come up with the best approach that individual tributes should use. Fortunately we've already talked enough that your angle seems quite clear."

I move closer to the edge of my seat, intrigued by his words. "And...?" I prompt.

"And the other half is spent on having a mock interview of sorts. To see whether or not that approach suits the tribute."

Connecting the dots, I recline back against the couch. "So now you want to do the mock interview, without mentioning the angle, as a way of solidifying the notion that the angle you deem appropriate is the right one."

"Precisely," he says, "Only if you're ok with it," Konrad adds quickly.

I shrug, "Doesn't seem like you're leaving much of a choice either way."

"Not unless you've got a better idea."

"No," I wave a gesture, "by all means let the commencement of the mock interview begin."

"How are you feeling, Miss Donner?" asks Konrad in an unnervingly accurate imitation of the Capitol accent.

"Both anxious and excited, I guess. With the Games just around the corner they're not uncommon feelings. Undoubtedly most, if not all, the tributes are feeling similar emotions."

"Well said. And what type of arena are you hoping for?"

I take a moment to mentally construct my answer before replying. "Any type of arena is fine so long as they offer some sort of concealment for their contestants."

What I'm not hoping for are jagged cliffs and huge canyons. That was exactly how the broken-armed crippled wound up meeting his end. His was chased by a group of four Careers. They'd been out for his blood the moment he tackled one of their own to the ground and stabbed them to death. With the four Careers chasing him, the cripple eventually found himself trapped between a pointed cliff and his pursuers. There was no way he could fight his way through. He was either going to die by their hands - where they would drag out his death - or meet his fate over the cliff. The choice for him was easy. Without a backward glance, the cripple jumped off the cliff where he smashed head-first into the cliff side.

"Okay," Konrad intervenes through my thought, "so what type of weapons are you hoping to get your hands on?"

"Are you sure it is appropriate for me to be answering that question?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, assuming the other tributes don't say anything, wouldn't I be giving away too much? Anything I say would leave me at a disadvantage." To this Konrad simply gives a crooked smile.

The rest of the mock interview goes much the same way. Questions and answers fly back and forth. Needless to say the mock interview alone is one hundred percent more stimulating than any amount of lessons with Wendy.

"Yup, it's just as I thought," says Konrad simply after the final question was answered.

"And just what," I ask, "is that exactly?"

"Your angle; it's somewhat a mixture between calculating and intelligent."

My eyebrows rise up. "Like your angle some ten years ago. Where you were able to elude many of the other tributes and only kill when it was absolutely necessary to. Are you positive I'll be able to pull it off?"

"Of course, I wouldn't have brought it up if I thought even for a second that you weren't proficient of pulling it off."

"Well, thanks. Your confidence means a lot to me," I say earnestly.

"That's what I'm here for. Now, what do you say we go through another mock interview now that you know what your approach will be?"

And so it was that we resumed the questions and answers until Konrad declared it is time for lunch.

Back in the dining room Wendy sits by herself. That did not go unnoticed.

"Where's Haymitch?" Konrad asks as Adam and Evelyn enter shortly afterwards.

Wendy accepts a mug of tea from an Avox. "He decided that he'd like to try out room service and eat lunch in his room. Then he's going to take a nap."

"Ah," says Konrad, "is that so?" Judging by his tone, it sounds as though he actually does understand what Haymitch and I had to endure with our district escort. She is just that draining on a person.

Wendy nods once sharply. "Um hmm, that's right. Now, Lyn, sweetie, you'll be with me after lunch. Adam will work with Konrad. Maysilee-"

"Gets the rest of the day off," I finish.

After lunch the assembled group disband once more. To the privacy of my quarters and it is back to the regular calisthenic training as is routine whenever we are allocated free time. Roughly two hours goes by before a little snack is in order. Looking at the menu list I order a shepherd's pie and a bottle of water. Afterwards I poke my head out the door. Seeing as the hall is empty and the stairwell is right there, I spend half an hour or so racing up and down the stairs just working on leg muscles. With lungs and legs burning with exhaustion, I take a refreshing shower to wash away the sweat. All dried and dressed up, I take a much needed nap.

Punctual as always, Wendy alerts the entire floor that supper will begin shortly, thus waking me from a pleasant sleep. Quickly waking myself with a splash of water in the sink, I join the others at the dining table. Avoxes come and go throughout dinner bringing spaghetti carbonara, pan grilled lamb chops, steak with onion gravy, spring rolls, and rolls shaped like a crescent-moon sprinkled with seeds. Wendy informs us that the rolls are from District 11.

Only when the grilled lamb chops are placed in front of us does Konrad say anything.

"Most of you would be nervous about the interview tomorrow night. But don't be," he beings. "Just remember everything we went through today and you will be fine."

"Our interviews aren't going to last as long as they normally would. Are they?" Adam asks, with an air of already knowing the answer.

Wendy wipes her lips with a napkin before answering. "That's correct. Interviews with Caesar Flickerman usually last for three minutes. Given the current situation these interviews will last for no more than one and a half minutes."

"Of course," Adam mutters sarcastically under his breath, "the last thing we want to do is bore the Capitol." He savagely tears at a piece of meat with his hands.

"Now, dear, we don't-" at the glare Adam directed at her, Wendy falters and stares down at her lap.

"Will we really be fine tomorrow if we remember the things we talked about today?" asks Evelyn, her imploring puppy dog eyes directed at Konrad.

He pushes back the remainder of his plate and pours himself a glass of water before answering her. "You most certainly will."

When supper is over, Wendy suggests we get an early sleep for the busy day ahead of us tomorrow.

Changing clothes in the privacy of my room, I finally turn in for the night.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Dawn creeps by quickly and yet I don't get up until Wendy dutifully begins knocking on our doors. Heading into the bathroom, I prepare for the day.

The usual breakfast is followed by our prep teams preparing us for the night's interviews. They start work immediately after we finish eating and continuing working until late into the afternoon.

The standard routine of hair wash and waxing takes up the majority of the morning. The main topic of discussion amid the prep team appears to be Alexis' new piercings. She now has a nose ring and four new piercings in her left ear.

"Who are you trying to impress this time?" Aminta files away at my nails, grinning knowingly at Alexis.

As she runs a comb through my hair, Alexis denies unconvincingly that she is not trying to impress anyone. That of course sets them to chattering again. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Aiakos begins applying my make-up by giving me a layer of red lipstick. He then accentuates my eyes by adding eyeliner and mascara.

When my hair is reasonably smooth and free of knots Alexis places a simple black hair band on me. Letting it fall freely across my back, she curls my hair slightly before using hairspray on it. As Alexis does that, my nails are given a clear glossy coat by Aminta. Once they dry up she paints them red. After using tweeters getting rid of the last stray hairs, the three adults finally agree I am ready to wear my interview outfit. Aminta scampers off in search of Alex, who has been working on my dress.

Alex arrives and quickly dismisses the other three. They leave without objection as he begins unzipping the black bag he came in with. Expecting the worst I'm utterly surprised by what lies inside.

"It's very pretty." I'm not lying.

"You like it? " Alex smiles broadly. "It's black to reflect the coal of your district." _Or black could suggest that I'm heading to a funeral._

"The white collar adds sophistication to it," I comment.

"Indeed," nods Alex, "Konrad was adamant your dress have a collar for that very purpose. Let's try it on." With that the dress is slipped over my head. Once adjusted, it fits snugly on me. It ends one or two inches above my knee while the sleeve ends a little pass my elbow. It's not ostentatious but there is definitely a certain appeal to it.

Dress now on, Alex produces black heels and suggests I try them out. I comply and walk around in them. The heels are roughly the same length as the ones Wendy had me practice in. They would've constantly kept slipping off had it not been for the straps around my ankle that hold them in place.

Finally Alex places on me silver-hooped earrings. Seeing as my ears aren't pierced, the earrings are clip-on.

"There," he says, adding the second earring on. "Before heading downstairs we should meet up with the others."

"Sure," I reply as he opens the door of my room and holds it for me to go through first.

At the elevator there stands only Wendy, Evelyn, and her stylist.

"The gentlemen have already gone downstairs," Wendy answers the unasked question.

We file into the elevator and head to ground floor. On the way down Evelyn cannot resist twirling around in her grey dress with a bow tied on the back.

Right in front of the Training Centre a stage has been constructed during the day from which the interviews will take place.

The doors of the elevator open to the scene of the other tributes lining up in the order their interview will occur in. Soon we find the other half of the District 12 band in the chaos.

Adam's in a black suit and grey tie. Haymitch wears a collared white long-sleeved shirt under a charcoal-grey vest and tucked into matching grey pants, and a black tie. Konrad looks sharp in a blue tailcoat and trousers and black bow tie.

Because interviews take place with females preceding the males this time, I'm placed first in line for District 12. Evelyn lines up behind me with Haymitch behind her. Adam brings up the rear and will be the very last tribute interviewed this year.

Before long the line begins moving as the anthem plays and we file on stage and take our seats. Looking out at the crowd and cameras present, my hands begin trembling as the reality of it all hits me full blast. Gamemakers can be seen to the right of the stage, in an enormous balcony of a high-rise building. Camera crews occupy most of the other balconies of the ionic and lofty buildings surrounding the City Circle. Prestigious Capitol guests have an elevated seating unit built specially for them with the front row reserved for stylists. All around the Circle and surrounding streets citizens gather to watch the interviews live.

It is a sure fact that around the nation televisions will all be switched on to this event. Therefore it is guaranteed that there will be no blackouts tonight, which District 12 is subjected to a lot of.

The audience cheers loudly as Caesar Flickerman scampers on stage in his gleaming midnight-blue suit speckled with its thousands of tiny electric bulbs.

Every year his appearance remains essentially unchanged; same hairstyle and same exact suit. The only change is the colour he sports. This year his hair in its short ponytail is a dark shade of green.

Caesar starts off the night with a joke or two to get the ball rolling before introducing the first female tribute of 1. She bounds up to centre stage and joins Caesar for her interview, garbed in a stunning yet revealing scarlet dress.

Half a minute into their conversation and it is clear that her angle is flirty.

A minute later and the buzzer goes off, signalling time.

The flirty girl is soon replaced by her female partner, who is clad in an astounding silver silk dress fashioned to resemble a toga.

For the most part I try to concentrate on the interviews but find that the nerves make it hard to do even that properly. What does register is just how sensational a host Caesar Flickerman is.

He has this charisma that brings most uneasy tributes to ease and make them shine. He is courteous enough to laugh at lame jokes and is able to transform a feeble comment into a brilliant one simply by the way he responds. Caesar's chemistry with the audience and contestants alike is truly astonishing.

Properly focusing on the interviews it becomes effortlessly easy pinpointing each person's angle.

Smirky from 2 is proud to the point of being conceited. The other male from 2 is a true sadist. A female of District 4 is extremely egotistic. The younger brother from 7 is elfish. A girl from 9 is disconcertingly composed. One of the girls from District 10 is rather introverted.

All too soon Caesar is introducing the last remaining tribute from 11. He is part of Evelyn's alliance and gives her the tiniest hint of a smile as he stalks by.

 _Be clever. Be ingenious. Just like Konrad told you to be,_ I repeat mentally. Despite my self-assurances, my heartbeat accelerates at the thought of being interviewed next. All the sudden the white collar feels too tight as my short breaths becomes erratic. Sweat gathers at the base of my neck and I hasten to wipe it.

My stomach does a flip and my heart may actually have skipped a beat at the sound of the buzzer.

"And now allow me to introduce to you the first tribute of District 12," he continues, "Maysilee Donner!"

I numbly take short strides to where Caesar is. He chivalrously takes my right hand and guides me to the interview chair.

"So, Maysilee, overall where do you think you will rank in the Games?"

The question is so appalling it clears away any shock I had up until recently.

I smile sweetly and swallow back bile. "It really is too soon to say for a certainty, Caesar. There are just so many determining factors."

Caesar Flickerman leans towards me an inch, seemingly intrigued. "Would you care to explain?"

"I'd be more than happy to elaborate," I say slowly to stall for time.

"For instance," I begin, "the arena."

"The arena?"

"Yes, depending on the type of terrain, it could work to one person's advantage."

"Ah! I see! And it could be a disadvantage to another person," Caesar deduces.

"Precisely." This time I try for a disarming smile.

"You mentioned other factors," he points out.

"Affirmative," I agree, "the types of weapons and supplies that are present will absolutely determine a person's rank in survival."

Caesar nods attentively and so I feel the need to continue. "Also the extent to which one prepares for these Games is a massive contributing factor. Oh, and the formation of alliances. Or the lack thereof."

"Well said!" Caesar compliments, "Isn't she something?" he asks the audience and to my surprise they applaud enthusiastically. _Will it be enough to gain sponsors though?_ "And how do you feel about District 12's chances of reeling in another victor this year?" Caesar asks me once the applause dies down.

"Very positive, Caesar, the odds just might be in our favour this year."

"You seem confident. Why is that, may I ask?"

"Because we have such a competent mentor and between the four of us District 12 has never had such a determined group of tributes."

"That's the spirit!" Caesar laughs, "That's what we like to hear!"

He continues after the cheer of the crowd dwindles. "Now, Maysilee, you mention alliances."

"Yes. Yes I did."

"Tell me, what do you see as being the advantages and disadvantages of being in an alliance?"

"The advantages are that," I begin, clearing my throat to stall for time once more, "one would extensively improve their chances of survival when they combine their strengths with another person, health benefits is affected positively with more sleep possible since sentry duty can be shared, and knowledge of the arena and competitors could potentially increase when that valuable knowledge is shared amongst individuals in the alliance."

"Brilliantly put! And the disadvantages?" Caesar prompts.

This time I allow a brief moment to think. "One might find themselves eventually drawn into an alliance they'd be hard-pressed to break if one so desires to go home and face one's district."

Caesar nods intently and his expression is such that there is no denying that he is actually taking what I'm saying seriously.

He is on the verge of asking me another question when right that moment, the signal sounds and Caesar stands up, offering me his hand. I graciously accept it and stand the way Wendy taught me to.

"Ladies and gentleman," he begins and raises our intertwined hands, "Maysilee Donner of District 12!" The applause that ensues is a lot louder than I expected.

Shakily resuming my seat and waiting for my heartbeat and pulse to slow back down, Evelyn takes a seat next to Caesar. Her interview goes by smoothly and it is clear Konrad had chosen polite and endearing as Evelyn's angle.

Before long, Caesar is wishing Evelyn all the best and inviting Haymitch to come forward.

Still in a daze, I'm brought back by the sound of laugher. _The audience must surely be getting restless and yet he managed to make them laugh_.

"So, Haymitch, what do you think of the Games having one hundred per cent more competitors than usual?" is Caesar's next question.

Haymitch gives a lazy shrug. "I don't see that it makes much difference. They'll still be one hundred per cent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same." The crowd erupts into laugher yet again while Haymitch gives them a half-smile.

Just by watching the small interaction between the two it's simple to deduce that Haymitch's angle is to be disdainful and snide. His entire demeanour screams of apathy.

Halfway through a question the buzzer sounds, much to the disappointment of the audience and Caesar himself.

Afterwards Caesar is joined on stage by Adam. Where it turns out he can surprisingly pull off enthusiastic and energetic as an angle.

Eventually the anthem signals the conclusion of the night. Rising from our seats, we only begin moving off once it finishes.

We end up back in the Training Centre lobby, waiting for a vacant elevator. The lobby is mainly filled with tributes. With mentors, escorts, and stylists caught in the crowd outside.

The four of us from 12 manage to find an elevator together. Just as the door begins closing, the brothers from 7 hold it still.

"Is there room for two more?" asks the younger one.

"Plenty of room," Evelyn answers with a smile. So it was that the six of us end up sharing an elevator.

"Damien, will we really be alright?" the younger boy, who can be no older than Evelyn, stares pleadingly at his brother.

"Of course, Axel," Damien consoles. "You're here with your big brother. What is a big brother's job if not to protect you?"

Soon we reach level seven and the two get off. The next time the lift stops is on the twelfth floor.

We stand in the corridor taking in the scent of food drifting in from the dining room when the elevator opens once more. In step Konrad, Wendy, Alex, and the three other stylists of ours.

"Marvellous work, pumpkins! Now let's eat while the food is still hot." Wendy then leads us into the dining room. Where we are served potato salad with sour cream, pork chops with cream gravy, bacon double cheese stuffed burgers, chocolate pudding, baked berry custards, and bite-sized square-shaped rolls. Wendy explains the rolls as belonging to District 3.

We watched the rerun of the interviews in the sitting room after supper.

The anthem is playing as Konrad says, "The four of you did exceptionally well. You may have even won over a sponsor or two."

"Not that we should get our hopes up just yet. Got any last piece of advice for us?" asks Adam.

"Try to maintain a stable body temperature. Water is your first priority; a person can die of dehydration in just three days, you know. Oh. And don't do anything stupid at the Cornucopia. In fact, stay away from it at all costs. We don't need you dying in the initial bloodbath. Just run and place as much distance between you and the other tributes as possible."

"And if we somehow survive the carnage? What then?" Adam presses on.

Before Konrad can answer, Wendy suddenly gives me a hug, unable to hold it any longer. "I'm going to miss you, Maysilee." She then goes around to each tribute and hugs them. This is her saying good-bye. Tomorrow we'll leave for the arena and she'll go with Konrad to the Games Headquarters. There they will meet with any possible sponsors and, between Wendy and Konrad, hopefully devising some sort of plan for sending us gifts.

Our stylists will accompany us to the actual arena, so those farewells can wait.

Goodbyes said Wendy leaves a little teary eyed with the four stylists. Then it's only Konrad left. "Work hard in there and we'll work hard on getting you out," he says before walking off.

Nothing more to do, we go our separate ways to change and try to sleep.

The Games don't begin until ten in the morning but we must get up earlier. As there's no telling how long we must travel to reach the arena.

After several hours of tossing and turning in bed, I give up trying to sleep. It is absolutely vital to rest now because there is no telling how much sleep we'll ever get in the arena. Sleeping in the open may well result in getting your throat slit in the Games.

Nevertheless, I'm too anxious to sleep at all. Hoping that it will help, I get up and pour a glass of warm milk for myself. Turning on the television, I decide to watch something while drinking the milk.

A Game five years ago is replaying and while watching a boy loose his left hand with an agonising scream, a voice from behind startles me.

"That eager to start the Games are we, Blondie?" It's oddly amusing to hear Konrad repeat the first question he ever asked me.

"Couldn't sleep either?" I guess.

"Not with the plaguing nightmares."

"Nightmares?"

"It's funny. Everyone always talks about the magnificence and splendour of becoming a victor. And yet no one ever thinks to mention the never-ending flashbacks, or the gory nightmares, or the relentlessly present feelings of guilt."

"You're fighting through this to see your family again, aren't you?" Konrad continues suddenly.

"Of course."

"And are you aware that some people don't even _have_ proper families?"

"You're referring to the death of Evelyn's parents," I guess again.

"Haymitch's father, too," states Konrad simply. "James died protecting his eldest son from Peacekeepers when he got into trouble with the law as a young boy. That inevitability left his wife, Sasha Abernathy, to raise their sons all on her own."

Listening, I can't help thinking out loud, "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Knowledge can be a useful thing," he all but answers vaguely.

We go back to watching the previous Games in silence. Eventually I fall asleep to the sound of a person's agonised and blood-curling screams as the now one-handed tribute hacks off a fellow tribute's arm and stabs them between the eyes. There is a _thump_ as the body falls to the ground. The cannon that signals the death of the tribute causes me to stir in my sleep.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Waking up stiffly on the couch, I discover a thin blanket pulled over me.

Heading into my room with the blanket wrapped around me, I find Alex crouched low beside the bed.

"What are you doing?"

He looks up at me. "Maysilee, there you are. You weren't in bed so I figured you must've fallen under it in your sleep." Alex gets up and hands me loose clothing to change into.

After changing, he leads me up to the roof. There a hovercraft appears and a ladder drops down. As soon as my feet and hands are touching the lower rung of the ladder, I'm frozen in place by some kind of electric current. With me still glued to it, the ladder is brought up safely into the hovercraft.

A doctor in a white coat appears with a syringe in hand. She explains that inside it is my tacker. The doctor warns me of the sting of the needle but it does little to lessen the sharp pain that comes. The needle injects a tiny metal tracker under the skin of my forearm. In this way the Gamemakers will always be in the know as to where I am while in the arena.

Once the tracker is placed I'm instantly able to move freely again. The doctor with the syringe moves off somewhere and Alex is brought up to the hovercraft.

An Avox appears and ushers us to where breakfast has been placed on a table. Ignoring the queasiness I'm slowly beginning to feel, I eat the cinnamon roll, bacon and egg muffin, salmon and pea quiche, cottage cheese omelette, and freshly sliced mangoes.

"Don't forget what Konrad said about finding water," says Alex. "After the other tributes, dehydration is your most immediate danger."

Drinking water and staring through the window, I'm taken aback at the amazing birds-eye view of the city and the wilderness beyond.

The windows of the hovercraft black out after about two hours, indicating we are close to our destination. Alex and I head down the ladder once the hovercraft lands. The ladder takes us down underground, where the catacombs lie, directly under the arena. Following specific directions, we soon arrive at the chamber I will use. Here preparations are made in the final minutes before tributes enter the arena. The official name for this place is the Launch Room. It has a more fitting name that is known throughout the twelve districts; the Stockyard. A place occupied by animals waiting to be slaughtered.

As I will be the first and last tribute ever to use this room, absolutely everything in the Launch Room is new. Arenas are turned into historical sites once they are no longer actively used. Capitol citizens often visit them for month-long morbidly grotesque vacations. Where they can rewatch the Games, tour around the catacombs, visit sites where the deaths took place, and even take part in re-enactments.

The food is supposedly superb.

After hazily taking a shower I dazedly clean my teeth, fighting to keep breakfast down. Alex then ties my now smooth hair into a tight ponytail.

"Could you tie it into a bun, please?" I ask after a second thought.

"Certainly, don't want your hair getting in the way, now, do we?"

He proceeds to twist my ponytail very gently as I answer with, "Right."

Once my hair is in place, we move onto attire. It's the same for every tribute. Designed by the Gamemakers so even the stylists have no idea what lies within the package that arrives. After the white undergarments are on, Alex helps me into black leggings, a black cotton singlet, thin woollen socks, and a pair of black sturdy leather boots that just reach the top half of my calf. Just as I'm about to voice my opinion that these clothes don't appear sufficient enough in keeping anyone warm or dry, Alex holds up a military-styled camouflage thermo jacket. Turning around, I extend my arms slightly so as to allow Alex to pull the hooded jacket on me. The aforementioned jacket is surprisingly warm and falls several inches past my hips.

"Judging from the fabric of your clothes, the arena isn't likely to be aquatic-based. Nor is it likely to be in a desert. That's simply the wrong colour," Alex waves briefly at what I'm wearing, "for that type of terrain."

All I can manage to do is nod mutely.

Assuming all preparations are now done, it comes as somewhat of a shock when Alex fishes out a golden pin from his pocket.

"Where did that come from?" I manage to ask after the initial shock passes. I've been looking for that mockingjay pin for the last two days, sure that it was lost.

"Sorry, but I needed to make sure the Gamemakers would approve of your token," Alex states remorsefully.

"Thank you," I choke out, "for ensuring I could bring my token of home into the Games."

Alex places the mockingjay pin onto my singlet before zipping up my waterproof jacket. "It wasn't as easy as you make it sound. Some people kept insisting that it could be used as a weapon. The pin almost didn't pass the review board."

"But it did in the end."

"Yes it did," Alex grins.

With everything in place, Alex suggests I move around in my clothes. Make sure everything fits. After running in circles, walking, stretching, and jumping, I deem everything okay.

"Then you're absolutely good to go," replies Alex with a smile. "Would you like to eat something while we wait for the signal?"

I nod and am soon nibbling on some macadamia biscuits and sipping several cups of water every so often. To calm my nerves I level out my breathing. Inhaling through the nose and exhaling through the mouth. Even though my nerves can be soothed, my mind is a whole other matter. It becomes a tornado of thought and endless questions relating to the impending Games. Thousands upon thousands of different case scenarios whizz through my head, none of them even remotely good.

A warm hand is placed on my own, which I hadn't realised was shaking again.

"It's okay to be a little frightened. But don't be. You'll be fine," Alex comforts.

 _That's easy for you to say. You're not about to be sent into an arena wherein everyone else is trying to murder you._

Instead of saying any of that, though, I only look up at Alex and ask, "You think so?" knowing that he only ever means well.

"I know so," he replies before adding, "What was that song you were humming?"

Somewhat bewildered, I ask, "What was I humming?"

Alex hums a tune and instantly I recognise it as The Hanging Tree.

He tilts his head slightly to the side as he repeats, "The Hanging Tree?"

"Yes, my mother used to sing that song to my sister and me when we were younger. Since then it had always sort of comforted me."

I can almost hear her voice right now:

 _Are you, are you_

 _Coming to the tree_

 _Where they strung up a man they said murdered three?_

 _Strange things did happen here_

 _No stranger would it be_

 _If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

 _Are you, are you_

 _Coming to the tree_

 _Where the dead man called out for his love to flee?_

 _Strange things did happen here_

 _No stranger would it be_

 _If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

 _Are you, are you_

 _Coming to the tree_

 _Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free?_

 _Strange things did happen here_

 _No stranger would it be_

 _If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

 _Are you, are you_

 _Coming to the tree_

 _Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me?_

 _Strange things did happen here_

 _No stranger would it be_

 _If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree._

That song never fails to creep out Meredith and Jasmine. I used to sing it just to get a reaction out of them.

The first verse seems alright. But the second one sounds as though there is a talking corpse. The third also doesn't seem that bad. Then we move on to the fourth verse, where everything fits together. It turns out that it had been the man who got hung that is singing, and therefore pleading for his love to join him in death.

That's how Jasmine and Meredith must've interpreted it. Hence the reason the very idea of the Hanging Tree terrifies them.

The thought of Meredith has me remembering back to when we said our final farewell.

Our parents had already walked through the door. Just as Meredith was about to leave, too, I call out to her. She stops and turns her head around. Without really thinking I raise the three middle fingers of the left hand, place them to my lips, and hold that hand out to her. That has Meredith bursting into tears. _Why did I even do that?_ I lament regretfully. That gesture is an old one in District 12, usually only seen at funerals. It signifies thanks, it signifies admiration, it's another way of saying goodbye to someone you love.

Alex and I remain seated on the couch until a voice over the intercom informs us that it is nearly time for launch. Immediately immense panic washes over me like a tide relentlessly pulling back to shore. The blood rushes loudly in my ears and I become so dizzy that Alex has to support me as I try to stand. A tattoo that covers his entire right forearm becomes clearly visible, I notice distractedly.

He holds either sides of my shoulders and turns me so that I am facing him.

"Just breathe, Maysilee. You will do fine. Just relax," he repeats.

I do as he advises and thank him for his support.

"It's nothing," Alex assures me, "just know that it has been a great honour working with you. We all wish you the best of luck."

"I cannot even begin to express my gratitude for the work you, Aminta, Alexis, and Aiakos did. After this I hope you and the prep team and even Wendy get promoted to a better district."

"We wouldn't mind staying if it meant working with people like you," Alex replies. That moment I begin to wonder if all Capitol residents are really such monsters.

"Wendy would mind. She's been trying to become the official escort of a more respectable district for years." What possessed me to say that? Mayhap a nervous mind equals a loose tongue.

"She has always been a little backwards, even by Capitol standards." I laugh feebly as Alex continues. "One last thing: remember that during the sixty seconds you are required to stand on your metal podium, don't step off it."

"Or you'll get blown up by landmines," I continue.

Alex nods. "Right you are. Best get into place now," he says gently.

We embrace quickly before I step onto a circular metal plate in the corner of the room. A glass cylinder then begins sliding down around me at an alarmingly fast rate. In these small quarters it is enough to make just about anyone claustrophobic.

The thought of the Games has my breathing laboured, and my head ache, again when two quick taps on the glass causes me to look up.

Alex straightens his torso and places both his hands behind his back. His legs are spread at shoulder-width and his head remains facing straight ahead of him, looking at me determinedly - willing for me to understand. The message is clear enough that I mimic his stance. Alex gives a nod and the thumbs up.

It was around this time that the round mental plate begins to rise. There is a period of darkness for about fifteen seconds before the plate actually pushes me through an opening at the top of the glass cylinder. Then the glass is retreating back down underground and I'm left in the open, standing on the metal podium.

Immediately the blazing sunlight is simply too intense for my eyes. The dull florescent lights underground may have seemed bright, but compared to authentic sunlight it is like immediately switching from pitch darkness to staring directly at the sun. It's an immense struggle just keeping my eyes open and so, unable to rely on sight alone, I focus with my other senses for the time being.

Colourful song birds and cicadas chirp nosily over the rustle of leaves in a wind. The flapping of wings can be heard from high above. Blissfully summer-warm sun beats down on my skin pleasantly, leaving me feeling a tad drowsy. A light breeze carries with it the smell of trees, bark, and pine. There is a sensationally exotic smell of fragrant flowers wafting through the amazingly warm air. So intoxicating is the floral aroma that I cannot resist inhaling deeply a couple more times. The sweet smell is of spring in full bloom.

At last my eyes adjust to the light, leaving me with the most unbelievable scenery of an arena that leaves me dumbfounded.

From here I'm able to gather that the metal podiums are equally placed to strategically circle the golden Cornucopia, the distance from which I judge to be approximately forty metres. We're in a meadow of lusciously green grass and dotted with patches of flowers with delicate petals of different colours. The meadow itself stretches on for kilometres. Above, the beautiful vast blue sky is covered with fluffy white clouds that glide ever so slowly across it. Far to my left lie the woods; to the right, a strikingly spectacular snow-capped mountain.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Fiftieth Hunger Games begin!" calls the voice of Claudius Templesmith, the official announcer for the Hunger Games.

His job is to make any announcements that will dramatically change the existing arrangement of the Games. As the only communication we'll likely ever receive from the outside world will be the nightly death toll, this could be the only time Claudius has a job. During the rare event of changes occurring in the Games, first trumpets will sound, followed by the announcement itself. In the several occasions that he has made an announcement, it was to invite the tributes to a feast. This works best when food is scarce and nothing exciting has happened in awhile. Tributes are invited to a location, usually someplace prominent like the Cornucopia, where they would inevitably fight amongst each other. Sometimes the fight is over a legitimate feast. Other times it is over stale bread.

"Ten," calls an ominous voice over the speakers.

 _Where to run to?_ I begin to panic.

"Nine."

 _Where would Konrad tell me to go?_

"Eight."

 _The mountain gives an aerial advantage._

"Seven."

 _Like what happened for the Capitol during the Dark Days._

"Six."

 _But the woods serve for better concealment._

"Five."

 _Except that's exactly where all the other tributes will run._

"Four."

Heart and head pounding painfully, my eyes flicker to the other possible place tributes will run: the Cornucopia. The massive golden horn with its curved tail is constructed to look like the shape of a cone. Its mouth, which stands around seven metres off the ground, is supplied with the necessities one would need in order to survive this wretched Games. Food, water, weaponry, medicines, and clothing are just some of the items available in the mouth of the Cornucopia. Scattered around it are other provisions. They are arranged in a way that the most valuable ones are closer to the heart of the Cornucopia, while the not so essential ones are further away; closer to the tributes.

"Three."

At that moment a small backpack catches my attention. It is an easy five steps to my left.

"Two."

 _Will I be able to make it?_

"One."

I run as though my life depends on it - because it does.


	11. Part II

Part II

The Quell


	12. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Once the countdown finishes, and the gong sounds, the landmines around our podiums become disabled, making it possible to safely step off.

Although my mind is racing, my body is still in a lethargic state. This becomes a massive disadvantage as, in those fraction of a moment when just about every other tribute is disorientated by the beauty of the arena, I could've had ran off already.

As it is, I don't gather my wits until other tributes begin moving off their circular podium.

An arrow pulls me out my reverie when it narrowly misses my eye. It still does manage to graze my temple. I look wildly towards the general direction in which the arrow came from. A girl from 8 has already reloaded her crossbow and re-aims it at me before I can even register what just occurred in the short span of no more than ten seconds. Before she has the chance to shoot me again, however, her mouth abruptly explodes in a shower of thick red liquid; blood. The head of a spear protrudes from the centre of her throat. She collapses on the ground. The owner of the spear is nowhere to be seen.

A sudden movement in the corner of my eye has me turning to the left too late. There suddenly comes a sharp burning pain from my left rib and side. I double over, wheezing for air. As I bend over slightly, I glimpse a hand fashioned with a knuckle buster. Twisting my head out of the way, I barely avoid getting hit in the face with the dangerous weapon. By turning my head I lose balance and agonizingly fall on my knees. I hold out my hands to break the inevitable fall. As I try to get up a hand grabs one of my ankles and pulls sharply. I end up flat on my stomach. As they pull me towards them, I claw uselessly for any weapon nearby. When still no weapon can be found, I lift my weight onto my hands, so my torso is off the ground, and do a backwards kick with my free leg. Unable to see, I aim high, hoping to kick the person right in the face. There comes the sound of broken bones and a groan from behind. Immediately the pressure around my ankle loosens. I pull my leg back and turn to see a male tribute from 6 with a hand covering his face. Through his fingers his eyes burn with rage as he takes a couple of steps towards me, a fist balled up, and the knuckle buster glinting sinisterly. Taking advantage of my position, I hastily sweep a leg under both of his. He falls with a crash on his back. I get up and run to a body. Without even thinking, I pull out a throwing knife lodged into it. Turning around, I direct the knife at the same tribute from 6 running towards me. The throwing knife ends up protruding from his forehead. There is time enough to see him crumple to the ground before I turn and run in the direction of the small backpack. I bend and grab the item without slowing down my running pace. All over the meadow there are rings as weapons clash, battle cries, and screams of pain. As I run, scenes of horror register vaguely.

A little girl gets cut in half by a samurai sword. Another tribute takes the full blow of a war hammer right in the stomach which soon looks like nothing more than a black hole mixed in red.

Bodies lay scatter all over the meadow and around the Cornucopia; the foolish ones having risked going towards the heart of the Cornucopia, where even now the Careers prowl the perimeter.

I somehow miraculously make it to the end of the meadow and stand right on the edge of the woods. I stop to catch my breath a little and scope out my surroundings. There doesn't appear to be any tributes around but nonetheless I enter with extreme caution.

Trudging through the woods for what seems like hours I hide behind trees and crouch below bushes whenever footsteps are nearby.

It has not even been safe for me to check the weapons and supplies I left the Cornucopia with.

Eventually I climb up a sturdy tree bearing plenty of leaves excellent for concealment. Perched on its bough and digging through the little pack I discover a bowl, some dried beef, and a blowgun with two dozen darts. I first examine a dart before inspecting the blowgun. _What an utterly weak weapon. Small wonder it was placed so far away from the Cornucopia_.

A cannon disrupts my bitter thoughts. It is quickly followed by seventeen more. _The bloodbath is over_ , I think. Eighteen died during the initial bloodbath. The cannons usually sound immediately after a death. But given the fact that the number of deaths is hard to monitor during the bloodbath, the cannons sound afterwards, when they can get a definitive number. If the Cornucopia is no longer guarded by living tributes, hovercrafts would be sent in to retrieve the bodies. That doesn't happen until the killer or other tribute is a good distance from the body.

An apple hangs from a branch right in front of me. So ripe does it look that I reach for it when the distinct sound of a leaves rustling and _snap_ reaches my ears. The unmistakable sound of crunching comes next as someone takes a bite of the fruit they had just picked off a tree; the tree right next to mine.

I begin to panic when the person suddenly begins to cough viciously. Then there is a horrible gagging and wheezing sound as they struggle to get oxygen into their lungs. After about half a minute of this, a sudden disquiet falls on the woods. The expected _thump_ of something falling to the ground is muffled by the fire of the cannon.

When the thought of the cannon attracting bloodthirsty tributes occurs, I decide this tree is no longer safe.

The body lies in front of the tree. I examine it, positive no one else was with her. If there were, there would have been some screaming.

The female tribute of 6 looks almost unrecognisable. Her face is an extremely deep shade purple and forever contorted in pain. A thin trickle of blood runs down the corner of her eyes and nose. It also covers her mouth and chin as though she had tried to cough out her heart. Her eyes, staring blankly ahead, are completely black all over. Her throat had swollen to four times the normal size. Mouth gaping open, a severely enlarged tongue lolls to the side limply. Deep red claw marks cover most of the abnormally big throat. An apple with a single bite mark lies next to her.

Looking up, a bag hanging on a branch is visibly. I climb up swiftly for it. Once back on the ground, I stealthily head deeper into the woods.

Walking for several hours, I stop when my ears perk up at the sound of a _splash_. Not one to take reckless gambles I climb a tree to get an aerial view.

A pond full of clear water surrounded by a shallow bank lies right in the middle of a clearing. Small fish swim in the pond and occasionally leap into the air. Bushes with juicy-looking berries sit on the edge of the bank. _If I could just get there, I could hide, get water, and collect berries to eat. But where to hold the water?_ I rummage through the new backpack and find rope, a thin pair of gloves, a small container of mints, and an empty 600ml plastic water bottle. I pick up the water bottle and grin. _Well that's convenient._

It is the unclear knowledge of whether or not the pond is the only source of water in the arena that keeps me restrained in the tree. Other tributes will surely be looking for water too.

The sun is low in the west when my theory is proven right. Five tributes chatter amongst themselves as they enter the clearing. Plainly they feel safety in numbers. _That's still not reason enough to be as loud as a herd of elephants!_ I feel like screaming at them. Together their faces seem vaguely familiar when the last figure emerges into the clearing. I rub my eyes, unable to believe the irrefutable proof they're telling me. This is indeed Adam Finch's group.

"Don't be so loud," he reprimands them, "anyone could hear you a mile off."

"Yes, boss," answers one of the District 5 tributes. She adds her supplies along with the others and bends down at the bank of the pond.

Cupping her hands together she gulps down several clear, cold draughts of water. She stands up and turns to the rest of her group setting up camp. Her hands go to her throat as she begins making an all-too-familiar gagging and wheezing noise. Her district partner is the first to notice.

"Clara? What's wrong? Clara, speak to me!" He runs to her just as her legs collapses from underneath, causing her to fall. Clara continues gasping as the rest of her group turn their attentions to the two from 5.

"What's wrong with her?" her partner asks wildly, "Why can't she breathe?"

"It must be the water," speculates Adam. "It's not safe to drink."

"Well is there nothing we can do for her?" asks a frightened female tribute from 7.

A female tribute from 10 answers before Adam can. "No, there isn't. None of us have an antidote of any kind."

By now Clara is bleeding at the nose and the corners of her eyes. Her partner places her head on his lap and cradles her close to him. Finally, with the sound of air being released from a balloon, Clara takes her last breath. A cannon sounds right on schedule.

Adam begins shouldering his bag. "We should go. Too much noise will undeniably have attracted attention." The others begin following his lead. All expect the one from 5, who still has Clara's head on his lap. The other female tribute from 7 places a hand on his shoulder.

"Matt, let's go. It's time to go, Matt," Her voice is firm yet sympathetic. He nods, closes Clara's eyes, and gently places her head on the grass. Once everyone has their supplies in check, Matt holding Clara's share, they take off through the woods again.

I remain in the tree, processing the fact that the water source is not really a source of water at all. _So close yet so far_. I climb a little higher up the tree; not at all feeling safe. A hovercraft comes and snatches away the body of Clara using a metal claw.

Soon the day wanes and clouds part to reveal a bright moon, with stars twinkling all around. The anthem is played, signalling the nightly recaps of the deaths that occurred during day. In the sky, a massive screen transported on a hovercraft reveals first the Capitol seal. After the anthem and seal fades away we are again in darkness.

Viewers of the Hunger Games are able to watch in full the coverage of each and every death. Inhabitants of the arena are spared this as it is considered to leave living tributes at a disadvantage. It wouldn't do to reveal to our competitors who we've killed and using what weapons. Rather, we get the simplified version, where the same photographs used for announcing training scores are shown to inform us of the dead. This time training scores are replaced with district numbers.

One-by-one the faces of the 20 dead are revealed.

First to appear is a girl from District 3. _She was the one that got run down by a samurai sword._ This means all eight tributes from districts 1 and 2 survived. Then the other female from 3 is shown. Followed behind is a boy from District 3. Then Clara's face appears in the sky. Next it's the other female from her district. Next, the other boy from District 5, who is not Matt, appears in the sky. Unsurprisingly no Careers from District 4 died today either then. Next to appear is the girl from 6 who died a tree away from me. Then it's her other female district partner. _She's the one who got killed by a war hammer._ Then it's the boy from 6 from the bloodbath. _My first kill._ After is the girl from 8, who tried to kill me with a crossbow. Both males from 8 are next. Then it's both females from 9. Next is a boy from their district. One of the females from 10 – not the one in Adam's group – is then shown. Both males from 10 are next. The last two to respectively appear in the sky are the older girl and boy from 11.

The seal reappears followed by the anthem again. I let out a long breath. _We all four of us from Twelve made it; even innocent Evelyn._ Unbidden, a specific memory of Evelyn comes to mind.

We had just come back from our interviews with Caesar Flickerman and were sitting down to supper. While in the middle of her bacon double cheese stuffed burger, Evelyn unexpectedly put her burger down on her plate. She stared dejectedly at it be before confessing, anxiety evident in the quiver of her voice, "I don't think I will be able to kill anyone."

There was uncertain silence as no one knew quite that to say. Finally Konrad takes a stab. "If you feel as though you can't, Lyn, perhaps you're better off killing yourself. Save everyone the hassle," he states, unfazed by the other adults' cry of indignation. "If you find you can't do that," he continues, "then that's when you know you are more than prepared to do it - to fight to the bitter end to survive. It's a perfectly natural instinct to want to survive. Just remember one thing: in the Hunger Games, its kill or be killed."

With his clean shave, Konrad's already sharp facial features become even more defined. _He looks younger too,_ I remember thinking.

Going back and doing a mental countdown, it becomes clearer who the twenty-eight remaining tribute _s_ are.

Much too worried about the possibility of other tributes hunting under the cover of darkness, I resolve to stay awake in the tree for as long as possible. As a way of keeping myself awake, and to make things easier to carry, I transfer everything in my backpack into the bigger one courtesy of District 6.

I tie myself to the tree using the rope as a precaution, should I unexpectedly fall asleep.

My mind keeps bringing back the image of the boy from District 6. His family are mourning his death right now and I should feel more guilt, but I just don't. I have no regrets for I did what I had to do to survive. I should also feel more repulsed from being surrounded with all this death, but again I don't.

Sixteen years of watching the Games has left me that completely and utterly desensitised to death.

For the most night I am able to remain awake.

Nothing eventful really happens, apart from earlier on in the night when a wind did seem to carry with it the smell of smoke from the mountain. Someone must've been stupid enough to risk a fire. The way I figure it, they must be either extremely suicidal or Careers.

Lighting a fire is a sure proof way of drawing Careers like a moth to a flame. Since Careers have nothing to be afraid of, they can afford the luxury of an open fire. If they weren't the one who lit it, they'll see a fire as an opportunity to eliminate opponents.

Lighting a fire is understandable, however. Most of the night is nothing but freezing cold and blistering winds. Thank goodness for the thermo jacket. It's only when there are about two hours left before sunrise that I unwillingly give in to sleep.

Dawn seeps through the leaves in the trees early the next day long after I've woken up already. Since having had nothing to eat since yesterday morning, hunger wins out and I take out a strip of dried beef. Nibbling the dried beef ever so slowly, I contemplate the next cause of action – which mostly seems to go back to searching for water.

After the single strip of dried beef is completely gone I reluctantly leave the relative safety of the tree. Heading west and further into the woods I strain my ears to sounds of footsteps or water. The slightest rustle or snap of a twig sends me crouching below bushes or taking cover behind thick trees. As such, the going is slow. It takes the best part of an hour to cover a distance of one mile. The extreme precaution is not without its benefit. Life-saving and vital information had been gained in this way.

One time as I vigilantly crouched below a bush, a pair of tributes happened by. They were the brothers from 7. Much to my horror and dismay the younger one ran straight to the bush I was hiding behind.

"Damien! Damien! Look, berries! We've found something to eat!" he whispered urgently and excitedly.

"Don't touch them, Axel. For all we know they could be poisoned. You remember what happened to 6 when she took a bite of an apple." _How did they find out about that?_

"Oh. Right," Axel answered dejectedly. "That's why we didn't risk the water in the crystalline stream either."

"Correct. It's said even the scent of the flowers when inhaled too directly is deadly poisonous." And with that they were off again.

I myself had a look at the berries when it was safe to do so. Damien was right. The berries turned out to be nightlock. Jasmine had once explained that one bite of this will instantly get you killed. When asked how she knew about nightlock, she bashfully admitted Tobey told her about them.

I stripped a few berries and secured them in a small pouch on the side of the backpack. Not entirely sure of the reason, I become positive they'll come in handy in the near future.

Another time yet another pair of allies made their way through the dense woods. From my perched position in the bough of a tree I was able to identify them as being from Districts 6 and 8.

"Why don't we make for the mountain?" asks the last remaining tribute from 6. In his hand he holds a war hammer which rests on his shoulder.

"Because," his ally replies, "to get to the mountain we have to pass the Cornucopia. We know that two from 1 are guarding it."

"Besides," she continues, "even if we somehow make it across to mountain, we're dead anyway. That's where the 10 from Districts 1, 2, and 4 are right now."

District 6 laughed. "You've got me to protect you. We're the last ones remaining from our districts. We're literally all our districts have left. As long as we're alive, our districts have something to root for. Let's not disappoint them." Soon they disappear behind some tall trees, 8 holding a deadly-looking sickle at her side.

Around midday I come across the crystalline stream Axel was talking about. Upon closer inspection the stream water looks perfectly normal. But then again so does nightlock. The only thing stopping me from drinking the water, like I desperately want to, is the memory of Clara's reaction to drinking from that pond.

After two or three more hours of walking I take another break in a tree.

Fiddling with a dart, and thinking of the nightlock in the backpack, my mind constructs a brilliant idea on how to turn this useless weapon into a potentially deadly one. For the first time since entering these thrice-damned Games, my lips curve into the briefest of smiles.


	13. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Water is the next major priority I have once my weapon had undergone a few alterations. Hiking through the woods and wandering aimlessly for water yields no results. I try to look more determined than weary for the sake of my family should there be any cameras trained on me. It's not likely though. Especially if any fights are happening at this very moment. If there is a fight to the death happening cameras will be sure capture it so the Capitol audience is able to watch it live. Sick bastards.

The tranquil arena is so deceptively stunning that it is really easy to forget there _are_ cameras just about everywhere you go. The weather is amazingly warm, with a gentle touch of a breeze here and there. Small puffs of white clouds peacefully glide across the sky and can be seen between the gaps in the leaves hanging high in the trees. The ground many be scattered with death leaves, overgrown roots, fallen logs, crispy grasses, and broken twigs, but under sturdy boots it suddenly becomes as smooth as freshly turned soil. Teeming cicadas and other noisy bugs can be heard from their places in trees and on rocks. Almond-brown towering trees rise up from the ground in every direction. Luscious mushroom of giant size grow under the shady roofs of the woods. And yet no reliable source of drinkable water. Not to mention the possibility of people lurking about with every intention of killing you.

Unable to go on any further I rest once again in the bough of a tree. The bun of my hair is loose and so I retie it into a high ponytail. Sucking on a mint, hoping to subdue my intense thirst, I watch the sunset and the extraordinary range of colours that splash across the sky. A butterfly of exotic shades of blue, black and white flutters beneath my hair and underneath my ear. I suppress a giggle as its paper-thin wings brushes against my sensitive skin. All of the sudden there is a tremendously sharp sting on the side of my neck, as though it had been struck with a red-hot poker. Reflectively, my hand comes up to the source of the pain. There is something small protruding from the side of my neck. Something much like a splinter. The butterfly disappears. I have the sense to pull out the splinter only to discover what looks like a stinger usually found on a bee or wasp. _What's going on? Butterflies don't have stingers._

Unsurprisingly the wound begins to bleed. Putting pressure on the sore, I begin to feel a massive headache coming on. The world begins to spin in all different directions. Long shadows casted by the sun leap off their surface and shift into the form of humans. They begin dancing around in a circle. The leaves on the tree suddenly transforms into thousands and thousands of butterflies exactly like the one that had just stung me. Such is my immense shock that I let out a gasp of surprise and squirm uneasily on the branch. Abruptly the world turns sideways and I'm facing the sky. It takes a good long moment for me to realise that I am falling. Just as I come to that realisation my back slams into the ground with a crash, literally knocking the wind out of my lungs.

Lying spread-eagled on the ground regaining my breath, I notice the looming trees begin forming faces. One has red eyes and a mournful expression. Another one has black pits for eyes and jagged teeth. One blink and both the stinging butterflies and the faces on the trees vanish as if from thin air.

As I try to decide whether or not everything I had just seen were hallucinations, vomit begins making its way from my stomach up my oesophagus. As it nears my throat I force myself on all fours before spewing out the contents of my stomach.

Feeling much better already I gather up my supplies and move off in search of another tree, wanting to get away from the foul and putrid smell of mine own vomit. After scuttling up yet another tree, I lean against the sturdy trunk as the moon and stars appear in the distant sky. Bright stars twinkle dazzlingly from behind the gloomy clouds obscuring them from vision. Little winged insects that illuminate in the dark thanks to the tiny light bulb on their thorax add their light to that of the stars in the misty sky. They float in and amongst the trees and try to land on me on occasion. I swat them away, not wanting a repeat of what happened with the butterfly.

There were no deaths today.

This is definitely not good as the cursed Capitol audience will be surely restless for blood. If things continue on this way the Gamemakers will have to intervene. And there is nothing worse than Gamemakers intervening in the Games. I think of the worst case scenarios of Gamemakers getting involved in our Games and the intervention techniques used in the past for most of the cold night before unintentionally falling asleep.

I wake up long before the sun has even completely emerged in the east, feeling stiff and sore everywhere. Like the previous day I stretch and rub away the tautness in my joints and muscles. Blood begins flowing properly again. That's the price of staying up in a tree overnight. But it is certainly much better than the alternative of having one's throat slit in their sleep.

Water is the first thing to come to mind when I acknowledge how dry my mouth and throat feels.

Once I've eaten another measly breakfast of a strip of dried beef I despondently resume the desperate search for water, all the while sucking on another mint.

Trudging westwards and over the woodsy terrain, the sun slowly makes its way through the sky. Gradually as the day drags on the weather gets warmer. Eventually it gets so warm that I risk taking off the camouflage jacket. More exposed than ever, I avoid and swat away butterflies as well other deceptively mundane-looking creatures or things.

At one point, as I rest on a particularly overgrown tree root, a cannon sounds. The booming cannon blast is so loud it actually resonates in my skull. Another one goes off not half a minute later, but not before a bloodcurdling scream echoes through the trees. I become fully aware with shocking realisation that the scream and cannons were not that far away from where I am at all. So close in fact that I feel uncomfortable lingering here for even a minute longer. Hastily gathering all my supplies and silently moving on, a third and final cannon blasts around the same time.

Ahead, a single hovercraft silently makes for the general direction of the scream and cannons. No doubt there to fulfil its sole duty of collecting the bodies of the deceased tributes.

When I'm what I deem far way enough, I dash off in a sprint as swiftly and silently as possible. Not ever once looking back.

Once at a reasonably safe distance I lean against a tree in order to catch my breath. Still not feeling entirely safe I begin scaling it. Right around this time a figure emerges from behind the dense trees: the only remaining tribute of District 9. And he's all alone too.

Seizing the opportunity to test out my newly improved weapon I slip on the thin gloves before carefully loading a dart into the blowgun. I take aim and let loose the dart without much thought of the consequences to come. Unfortunately he chooses that precise moment to take a tentative step forward. The dart misses its intended target by a mere hair. As he crouches down and examines the dart, having the sense not to touch it, I reload again. He looks in the direction in which the dart came from just as the dart comes whizzing his way. Sustaining a mere graze, he scrambles off in the woods again. His backpack falls off his shoulders and lies on the ground. Inside are strips of soft sterile cloth, a 600ml water bottle two thirds of the way full, sliced fruits in a seal-up bag, and a small packet of plain crackers.

 _Water! There's water! This can't be a trick and the water isn't poisoned. He wouldn't have given up his fruits or crackers over a trick. Therefore he did not deliberately leave behind poisoned supplies._

It takes all the self control in my possession not to guzzle down the entire bottle immediately. Instead, I forcibly take small, careful sips of water and relish in the sensation of rehydrating myself.

After transferring all supplies into the one pack I immediately retrieve my two missing darts. Only one can be found amongst the thick bushes and fallen leaves that cover the woodsy floor.

Kneeling and carefully picking it up, I recall just how this dart has suddenly come to be such a deadly and formidable weapon.

Thinking of the nightlock in my pack while fiddling with a dart I was stuck with the ingenious idea of combining the two items and turning them into a single lethal weapon. Donning on the gloves, I tenaciously smeared the poisonous essence of the deadly nightlock berries onto the dart by plunging the latter into the former. I then proceeded to do the exact same thing with the rest of the remaining darts left in my possession.

Placing the dart right back along with the others, I move off again and soon come across a particular clearing enclosed and half obscured by tall thickets. The sun shines brightly on the patches of colourful flowers that grow in the green clearing. In the surrounding trees, marks have been left everywhere on their surfaces. Quick sharp line marks; like that made by an arrow. There is a sudden dull _twang_ sound as of something being released. Instinctively I turn a little and bring my pack up to protect my head and upper-body, ducking my head as low as possible, so my chin is basically touching my chest. A moment later a severe pain shoots up my left forearm. I yelp in pain but run all the same. From behind, a sharp _thud_ can be heard as something strikes the ground. Another arrow zooms by and manages to graze my cheek enough to draw a small amount of blood as I hurriedly escape.

Once completely out of harm's way I tend to my wounds. Under the shade of a willow tree I sit on a rock and critically study my arm, trying to recall anything Jasmine or the first aid instructor said about cuts and what to do to prevent an infection from occurring.

A deep gash covers my forearm just below the elbow. It looks to be approximately three inches long and is bleeding quite heavily.

Risking a little of the precious water I clean up the cut. It stings immensely but I grit my teeth tightly and endure it in relative silence. Afterwards I carefully and cautiously bind up the wound with a strip of white cloth, using it as a bandage. Risking a tad more water I clean up the scratch that mars my cheek.

Not feeling all the best as it is, the butterfly sting injury picks the perfect time to start itching like crazy. The skin around there begins to feel as though a rash may be developing soon. Placing a cool hand on the skin I resist the urge to scratch at it with nails.

As the shadows become longer I make the decision to trek on a little further more before night arrives. Continuing on the path west, and therefore placing further distance between the Cornucopia and the Careers, seems like the safest trail to take.

Above in the sky with its many hues of orange, flocks of raven black birds soar care-freely, irrefutably flying back to their nests.

A little over a mile from where the flock of black birds were seen, a small pack of fluffy squirrels scurries into view. Their fur has a golden tint to it. Not trusting anything in the Games ever since encountering the stinging butterfly, I remain perfectly still, not daring to move a single muscle. I do, however, blink hard several times to make sure my eyes aren't playing tricks. _Squirrels don't have golden fur, do they?_ As if to prove their abnormality, the one that appears to be the leader – the one at the very front of the pack – sits on its haunches and lifts its head high before actually _smelling_ the air with as much concentration as a dog with their keen sense of smell. Somehow I just know it would be extremely bad for the animal or prey if that squirrel got a whiff of their scent. Fortunately the whistling wind is blowing eastward as of the moment. And so the golden squirrels cannot smell me. Eventually the alpha scuttles away, leading the rest of the pack with it.

Nothing else eventful happens for another two miles or so. As I stride over the woodlands a sudden deep rumble sounds from beneath the ground. The rumble escalates until the very ground itself begins to shake violently. Branches in the trees tremble with the ferocity to match that of the shaking ground. Birds _squawk_ loudly and leave their trees in a blur of wings. The rumbling reverberates all throughout the entire arena. _An earthquake?_

Then as suddenly as the shaking and rumbling began, it stopped with the same suddenness.

This rumbling continues to occur over a period of every three hours and doesn't last for more than ten seconds.

Pushing onwards in spite of the periodically occurring earthquake, I manage to cross a distance of 3 miles before voices come within hearing distance.

Making a snap decision I turn southwards under the cover of dense trees and continue on as quietly and cautiously as possible. Soon the only sound comes from my soft footfalls underneath crushed leaves and fallen twigs. In my haste to put as much distance between myself and the voices as possible a tree root slips my notice. A foot of mine gets caught underneath it and would have sent me crashing face first into the hard packed earth had I not broken the fall with my hands.

I sit up and pain instantly shoots up from my ankle all the way to my hip. Tentatively untangling my injured foot from the blasted tree root I take a good careful look at the injury. My ankle is a deep purple and is painfully swollen. Immediately I determine that it has become sprained. Several ligaments may have been stretched or even torn mildly.

Rummaging through the backpack and pulling out the bottle of water, I am relieved to find it cool enough to be an adequate substitute for an ice pack. On initial contact the pain causes my eyes to almost well with tears. I furiously wipe at them before they even have a chance of appearing. Once the ankle begins to feel the tiniest bit better I find a stick to use as a sort of brace to stop my ankle from moving too much. Wrapping it up to my ankle I then search for a stick with enough girth and strength to support my weight. Shortly after said stick is found it becomes a single crutch of a sort.

Rests become more frequent now with the sprained ankle and climbing will be out of the question - at least for a little while. I try to keep my ankle elevated during breaks as suggested by the instructor of the first aid station back at the Training Centre. She said that in order to speed up the healing process, the ankle should be elevated above the level of your heart for two to three hours a day. That will help reduce swelling and bruising.

As the last light of the sun sinks slowly in the west I rest for the night, deciding enough walking has been done for the day.

I lean against the tree, my sprained foot propped up on a rock. Ahead is yet another massive tree which appears to have a small spilt in the middle. The gap the small spilt creates reveals the inside of the tree. It appears to be hollow. A bush or two in front of that gap and it would become the perfect hiding place for one who is injured and consequently is unable to climb trees. Obviously a bush cannot be moved but several fallen branches with plenty of leaves still on it can serve the same purpose. A quick skim around reveals two such branches not five feet to the right of that tree. Feeling satisfied of having found an ideal place for seeking refuge for the night, I begin to relax.

For now I drink another mouthful of water, conserving it as carefully as possible. Then, I eat three pieces of sliced fruit. The fact that these sliced fruits have not been seen to grow on the trees in the arena reinforces the fact that they are safe. I consciously avoid eating the plain crackers as they tend to require lots of lubricating saliva for chewing and swallowing.

Munching on the fruit, I can't help think about what is going on back in District 12 at the moment. What must my parents be thinking, seeing their daughter struggling to survive in the despicable Hunger Games? And how is Meredith and Jasmine holding up?

The sky turns from orange to a dark purple. Shadows grow long and connect until the world eventually becomes shrouded in darkness. Stars appear one-by-one.

Crickets chirp noisily throughout the woods. Somewhere in a tree an owl hoots delightedly. An unseen critter scampers across the woodsy floor and has my skin crawling in surprise. Somewhere towards the west the soothing trickling of a gentle stream can be heard. Frogs croak mournfully from unknown places.

All these ordinary sounds of nature suddenly get interrupted by a manmade sound; the sound of Panem's anthem, indicating that the death recap for today will shortly be publicised to those still remaining in the Games.

Although it gives us a moment to prepare for seeing any face in the sky, it in no way prepares me for the faces shown tonight.


	14. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The last remaining female tribute from 11 is the first to appear in the night sky. Then it's her partner also from 11. I inhale sharply through clenched teeth as the sound of three cannons echo off in my mind, nothing but a distant ghost of a memory from earlier today. One more death is yet to be announced publicly to us surviving tributes.

I had just about come to the conclusion of who it is when the face of Evelyn Vinsmoke of District 12 appears in the night sky. Her face is soon replaced with that of the Capitol seal. The final music is played before there is darkness and silence once again.

Seeing Evelyn's face in the night sky renders me absolutely gobsmacked and speechless for a minute or two, which is just as well for there would be absolutely no merit to being heard by any other tribute lurking about in the general vicinity.

Calling it a day, I hobble cautiously on my bad leg towards the fallen branches. I drag them in front of the hallow tree and squeeze in myself before covering up the entrance with the branches, making it blend into the natural environment as much as possible. It certainly wouldn't do to be found, trapped in from all sides like a cornered mouse. It is a little bit of a tight squeeze but nonetheless more comfortable than being exposed out there; in the openness of the dense woods.

With the safety and protection of a little hideout, I allow myself to sleep immediately rather than staying up as long as possible. A bitter breeze seeps through the gaps in the tree, resulting in me using the Capitol-issued camouflage thermo jacket as a blanket. It doesn't take long before sleep and fatigue quickly overcomes my weary body. The image of Evelyn's slowly fading face is the last thing that my conscious mind is able to bring up before I fall asleep.

The sheer force of the ground shaking is what wakes me up early the next day. These earthquakes have been getting more and more frequent and much more violent over time. Poking my head cautiously out the small gap I am greeted with nothing but chilly mist everywhere. The fine fog is so thick that it is nearly impossible to see the next tree over. The surrounding mist actually makes it impossible to see even the forest floor it is so heavy. My eyes make out eerily dark shadows through the fog that I am really hoping is just my imagination, paranoia, and fatigue playing mental tricks on me.

Already it looks as though one to two hours have passed since the start of dawn. Usually I would be up and travelling by now but the mist makes trekking out in the woods extremely perilous. My sprained foot makes me even more so reluctant to head out just yet. So instead of braving the mist I furl up on my side and catch up on some sleep, wrapped up snugly in the comfort of my thermo jacket once more.

After two or three more hours of much needed sleep I wake up more alert than ever I have been upon entering the arena. My senses seem to be almost over heightened. It really is fascinating just how much even an hour more of sleep can do for the weak body. Unable to ignore my growling stomach any longer I decide to eat two pieces of fruit. Shortly after that small breakfast it is time to scout the outside world yet again.

By now most of the eerie mist seems to have cleared off; or at the very least thinned out significantly. Gloomy dark grey clouds roll across the vast sky, discernible only through the gaps between the leaves and branches that make up the dense forest ceiling. My face breaks into an inexorable but weary grin at the sight. Grey clouds equal rain. Rain equals water!

 _Surely the Gamemakers will show some mercy and give us some source of drinkable water. Nothing more so boring for the Capitol audience than watching tributes all die of dehydration._

The timing couldn't possibly be any better. After spending precious water on cleaning out my bloody wound, the supply is now dangerously low. The sight of those grey clouds instantly has me motivated and wanting to get out in order find the perfect and ideal place to collect maximum rainwater when it does finally come pouring down. The fast rolling clouds are such a dark shade of grey to the point of being black. But that small detail doesn't deter me in the least.

Dragonflies zip along through the forest on those transparent and fragile wings of theirs. Before long I trudge through the woods on heavily weary feet. Already that sudden burst of energy from this morning seems to have worn off almost as though it was never there. My eyes seep close every now and again. A zombie: that is how I feel walking the vast spans of the arena.

All morning small black ashy flakes have been drifting out of the grey cloudy sky; not rainwater at all, much to my dismay and annoyance. The little flakes silently floating down at first glance looks like rain and that was what I had mistaken it for. It had at first caused me to become so irrationally excited, until it turned out not to be rain at all. For one thing it's not in liquid form. For another, rain doesn't emit a sulphuric stench. Finally, rain isn't black. However, the ashy black flakes appear to be completely harmless and so I simply ignore it.

I manage to walk a few miles just as the morning continues on. Around this time a particularly violent earthquake knocks me to the ground. The vibrations caused are so ear-splittingly loud. There is a massive crash as of something colliding into each other roughly; a rather nasty collision. This is instantaneously followed by the sound of trees being smashed to splintery pieces. Before very long the impossibly strong smell of rising smoke is heavy in the already stuffy and humid air. It soon becomes blinding and causes tears to well in my eyes. Crackling and popping sounds register in my mind that can only be caused by a fire. I turn around towards the commotion and can only see a flickering orange glow between the looming trees. Suddenly a herd of animals of all breeds come crashing through the dense trees, in a great hurry to quickly escape the unexpected wildfire. As they are running away from the fire - and as a consequence running towards me - I pick up the pace as best as possible on an injured leg. Fortunately my ankle has healed adequately enough that I just narrowly avoid being trampled over by the unexpected stampede.

About this time what almost looks to be a fiery comet appears in the smoke-thick sky briefly before smashing with a mighty force into the cluster of ancient standing trees to my right.

 _That explains the extremely massive crashing sound from earlier before._

Then all at once the trees catch on fire with a roaring blaze. The heat is so intense I am that dangerously close to the wild fire. Thick black smoke fills the confined space of the dense forest in only a matter of seconds. I start coughing and hacking extremely violently as the thickly dense smoke begins quickly filling itself up inside of my considerably small lungs.

Yet another comet-like object crashes a few hundred metres in front of me. Fire roars to life in less than a minute in that specifically targeted area. The smoke begins coming in from all directions now, causing me to cough more than ever. Remembering the lifesaving words of the trainer back in the Training Centre I hastily snatch out the bottle of water and a strip of white fabric. I fold up the fabric into a decent size. Water is then poured onto the bandage cloth only enough to make it damp. Covering the dampened cloth over my nose and mouth I head south-westwards in order to avoid becoming a human torch. Immediately it becomes clear that I am heading further and further into the woods again; straight into the heart of the forest. No doubt this is all part of the crude work of those bloody sinister Gamemakers; all part of their sick and twisted plan to draw us remaining tributes all together for a horrifically gory and gruesome battle to the death.

The moist bandage cloth immediately and effectively clears up my pounding head whereas before the thick fumes from the surrounding flames made me a little foggy and extremely light-headed. The cloth makes thinking less of a strain and makes it easier again.

Behind and to my left, orange and yellow flames lick at trees and everything it comes into contact with. It engulfs absolutely everything; reducing tree to a pile of ashes and rocks to a pile of rubble. Absurdly enough the arena now smells no different from District 12; the mixture of ashy smoke and dry soot in the dirty air.

The roaring blaze sends flecks of tiny sparks everywhere which will eventually ignite more wildfires. Air soon becomes suffocating. Despite the use of the wet cloth I am still coughing my throat hoarse. My breath comes out at desperate raspy intervals. My head pounds with the exertion I'm putting my weak body through. My senses kick into overdrive as hot adrenaline courses its way through my small body.

I push ahead, humongous walls of fire blazing on the right, left, and from behind. Meanwhile more and more flying objects constantly shower down onto the earth in deafening blasts. The impact of the blasts intermingles and blends with the earthquakes – which occurs much more frequently – as though they are in competition to see which of the two can create the louder sound. There is this pounding which I cannot discern is coming from the Earth, my head, or even my racing heart.

The destruction that ensues is almost nothing compared to the incredible noise. There has not been this much 'exciting' activity seen in the arena since the pandemonium that was the bloodbath. Cameras must be working on overdrive trying to capture all of the activities and reactions of each tribute, and any deaths that may occur. The Capitol viewers must be going berserk.

I stagger onwards as frantically as the sprained ankle will allow. Combined perspiration from the heat from the scorching flames and the excruciating effort my body is going through gather at the base of my neck, on the side of my face, and under my arms in no time at all. The hastily improvised crutch I have been using up until now gives way and snaps in two. It has been slowing me down anyway. There isn't time to search for a replacement one and so I will have to make do without. Besides, any potential crutch has probably already been turned into kindling for the fires by now.

The dense air becomes extremely suffocating. I am suddenly reminded of a field trip down into the coal mines back in the second grade, and how I had found the coal mines suffocating back then too. As we went down further and further down the mine shaft, using a rickety metal elevator, it felt as though air no longer even existed down there. Breathing suddenly became an excruciatingly difficult task. The teachers managed to prevent many children from having panic attacks by turning the focus of the kids onto the canaries, which coal miners bring with them in rusty and rattly cages. They had explained to us that the carnies are used by coal miners as a sort of warning system. When a canary stops singing coal miners would take that as an indication that they are mining dangerously close to a gas line. They would then be able to get out in time. The warning left unheeded and the bird dies first. Then the coal miners would too. Haymitch Abernathy's father must have died around the time of this field trip as during the excursion Haymitch himself had been quite sombre than usual, as opposed to his usual outgoing self. Not to mention there had been a rumour amongst the merchant folks that a man from the Seam had been recently killed by Peacekeepers. Absolutely everyone had been talking about it as executions are rare in District 12, no matter how shady it may seem to outsiders.

Though the air down in the coal mines may have seemed thick back then it is nothing compared to the air in the arena at this very moment. Plumes of black smoke continue to constantly seep their way into my lungs and make breathing extremely painful, as though I am inhaling acid. Unable to put if off any longer, I draw from my backpack the bottle of water once again. This time I place it to my lips and gulp down as much as I dare. The slightly warm water is nonetheless invigorating and manages to make me more alert. I push on desperately in search of safely, but it's no use; the wild fire seems to be closing in from all sides. There is this sense of urgency with every crackle of flame and the roar of intense fire.

With the still moist, but surely drying, cloth placed on my lower face I am absurdly reminded of the dinner following the very first day of official training. We had all just relayed our day Konrad brought up fatal poisons. In particular, his main focus was on poisons in the form of gas or aerosols. "Unlike smoke, simply a water-soaked cloth will not nearly be enough to protect you against poisons," he had said. "What you need to do is soak the cloth in urine. The chemical in urine will neutralise the poison and prevent it from becoming such a difficult problem as it keeps out poisons from your body." I had shuddered at the thought and silently hoped that it would never have to come to that. Wendy was clearly uncomfortable with the current conversation and so tried to steer it elsewhere. She rattled on pointlessly about how the Capitol planned on improving the Training Centre, grasping at anything remotely positive and not at all related to urine or poison.

"I have heard suggestions about big windows that change scenery anywhere around the city at a single command. Imagine that! Oh and wardrobes that are actually programmed to a person's certain taste. Soon they will develop buttons and gadgets for all sorts of unimaginable functions. Why, there are rumours about showers with panels containing more than a hundred buttons. Can you imagine! Soon you will be able to adjust water pressure, choose soaps or shampoos or scents or oils, regulate the temperature of water, and activate messaging sponges! And once done, all you would need to do is step onto the mat placed in front of the shower and you will become almost completely dry! There'll be a box in which all you would need to do is place your hand on it and your very hair becomes dry and untangled! Oh, and if you begin to feel famished, all you would need to do is look at a menu and place your order through a mouthpiece or intercom and your order will appear in less than a minute still hot and steaming!." As is her nature, our escort continued to talk uselessly and insistently about the revolution and generosity of the Capitol all on deaf ears. We were all much keener to hear what Konrad had to say.

The sound of a collapsing branch draws me back to harsh reality that is the Games. Fire had spread almost at a supernatural pace up a tree just behind me and the branch, no longer able to hold out against the weight of it, fell. I look around a bit desperately for any escape route through the thick black smoke. Just as I begin to lose all hope, my eye catches sight of a tiny rabbit. It hops madly until it is no more than three feet away from me. There, it stops momentarily to sit on its haunches and jabs its nose here and there faster than my eyes can process. After it sniffs all around it the little rabbit appears to have found the direction in which it wants to go. Quick as a flash it is off again. Standing there it dawns on me that the rabbit has a keen sense of smell and would be able to lead me to relative safety. Without really thinking I dash after it, crashing through the woods carelessly and making loads of noise knowing full well that the blazing fire will mask them all. For now the adrenaline momentarily makes me forget about any pain. The only thing on my mind is escape.

Up ahead I see a white fluffy tail round a corner behind a fallen log. I rush after it and, after five more minutes of running, find myself in a small clearing that seems miraculously untouched by fire.

My little saviour scampers across the clearing of soft grass and retreats into a hole. I am left, dumbfounded and extremely exhausted, to sit on a rock.

It takes several minutes before I regain my strength and breath, after which I'm aware of the unnerving quiet all around.

I look up with immense relief to see that the smoke almost looks as though it were rising into the air and disappearing into nothingness. Against my better judgment, I reach the edge of the clearing and walk around it until finding a tree to climb.

At last a tree is found and so I make my way up it tentatively. I continue up the sturdy tree until at least ten feet is between me and the ground. After pushing my way through some closely packed leaves, I poke my head out and bask in the warm sun and extremely fresh air.

All around there is nothing but carnage and sooty ash left behind by the destruction of the flames. For now all that wild fire seems to have vanished by some unknown entity. As I continue looking around in wonder, several loud screams echo through the arena.

I turn towards the general direction of the sounds and, as a result, the mountain. Only it isn't a mountain. To my utter disbelief and amazement, I am staring at a volcano.


	15. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The volcano in question is very much active. Hot red lava spew over its edge and slowly makes its way down south. Huge trees fall at the touch of lava while grass scorch and burn.

The horrible screams full of anguish and pain continue and it is clear the tributes who have camped in what they took to be the safety of the mountain have only just discovered the truth.

More trees fall. As they continue to do so birds nesting there take to the sky at amazing speed. No trees now drenched in lava had previously been scorched by fire, for volcanoes only shoot fiery boulders at a far range from what I remember from what little we learnt about active and dormant volcanoes in school years ago.

Fortunately, this part of the arena seems to have taken the worst of the volcano. Now, it seems, the carnage is on the other side. The screams of agony are like those of wounded animals; loud and prolonged.

I grind my teeth hard, setting my jaw taut, as the screams continue, and focus with great difficulty on the immediate surroundings. Taking advantage, for the first time, of such heights and allowing myself a somewhat birds-eye view of the arena.

The volcano is far to the left. The golden Cornucopia remains miraculously unscathed on the meadow that stretches for miles in front of the active volcano. Several large smouldering boulders lay in the meadows, creating massive black patches here and there. Looking further on and the woods are nothing but a splintery mess every which way. Trees that looked hundreds of years old have been reduced to fine kindling.

To the right and more woods continue stretching out as far as the eye can see. The wildfire has finally stopped but now most of the trees have either fallen or stripped bare and black. Looking straight-up I judge the time to be one or two hours after noon based on the actual position of the blazing sun.

The smell has got to be the worst, though. If it had just been that smell of smoke, ashes, and soot I could simply close my eyes and fool myself into thinking that I am back home in Twelve. However, in the air in addition to those three smells is the underlying smell of burning meat. Whether it is just that of animals too slow to outrun wildfire, or whether it is something else completely, it is more the unknown that makes me feel slightly sick when the smell reaches my sensitive nose.

I'm more than a little reluctant to head back down for fear of what may still be there. I can still remember the smoke bringing tears to my eyes and the very heat of the fire seeming to singe and lick the exposed skin of my arms and neck.

Almost as though to calm myself down and prove to myself that I am safe, I inhale deeply once. Waiting for five seconds I finally release my breath slowly.

Just as I finally begin to relax, basking in the warmth of the sun and fresh open air, a violent rustling of leaves causes me to snap my eyes open in an instant. There is the sensation as of my stomach dropping at the sound. I remain silent as a grave.

The rustling becomes too insistent and loud to ignore. Steeling my last ounce of nerves and strength I duck back into the thickness of the trees.

I'm able to barely make out the outlines of small objects making their way at alarming speed through the trees several feet below. My initial thought was that the golden squirrels are back. But then my rational brain quickly registers that these darting figures are slightly bigger than even the Capitol squirrels.

A whole new level of panic begins to build at the unknown until the figures past beneath me, seemingly uninterested in me in the slightest. As the last few make it from tree to tree I am able to glimpse black and white fur and a long black tail. From what I could make out of them, they looked to be capuchin monkeys. I breathe a sigh of relief and continue calming my nerves. Right about then, a cannon sounds from off in the distance.

Curiously, I poke my head out of the trees again. The cannon is quickly followed by eleven more. It doesn't take me long to realise that the screams have stopped. Putting two and two together, I gathered that twelve tributes had hid in the mountains and there they met their end due to the volcano. With any luck, the entire Careers pack may have been eliminated now. Maybe when the volcano started spewing liquid fire, the two from District 1 guarding the Cornucopia headed for the mountains once they figured only the woods and meadows were being attack by flying rocks and fire.

But that's just wishful thinking.

I watch with detached interest as a hovercraft collects all twelve bodies. Within just a little over a minute the hovercraft is gone, leaving behind no evidence that it was ever there at all.

Eventually, when the sun beating down gets too hot, I duck down once again into the shade of the tree. Leaning against the main trunk, I start to feel extremely itchy where the butterfly stung me. Somewhat reluctantly, I rummage through my supplies and put out the bottle of water and a strip of bandage. I pour some water onto the cloth and drink the rest. Then I tie the wet bandage around my neck, effectively covering the wound. Fortunately, that stopped the itching.

My stomach growls loudly and I figure now is a good a time as any to take a break and _really_ eat. I take out two crackers and quickly devour them. Then I get through three slices of fruit and two more strips of beef before I'm close to being full.

Resting with my head against the truck, while sucking on a mint, I allow the gentle rustling of the entire canopy by the wind lull me into a sense of peace. The feeling of serenity is nice as it is something I haven't felt since before the reaping. Absently, I begin scratching at the scab on my left temple. The blood has had sufficient time to heal that scratching it off leaves no mark. That wound I sustained four days ago from a tribute from District 8 during the bloodbath no longer even hurts.

My main cause for concern is the nasty gash on my forearm. I'm rather enjoying this relaxed feeling and decide redressing the severe cut can wait. Even that small cut on my cheek can wait, I decide.

Above in the sky, birds make their presence known by calling loudly to each other. With my newly-found feeling of peace and the sound of nature, this morning could all have been a dream. Right now, it doesn't even feel like, sound like, or even smell like a volcano erupted just this morning. The wind has done an exceptional job of carrying that waft of burning meat elsewhere.

Lulled by the pleasantly warm weather, and the peaceful sounds of nature, I soon fall asleep.

By my estimation, at least two hours have gone by since I first took my nap. The weather is now on the colder side now that the sun is much closer to the western sky than the east. As a result, the world has a purplish tint with the lack of proper sunshine.

Deciding to say here for the night, and not willing to risk unnecessarily further injuring my sprained ankle, I get comfortable and strap myself to the tree with rope.

Not long after tying myself securely to the trunk of the tree, and just when I was about to give into sleep once more, the anthem resonates loudly throughout the arena. Quickly untying myself, I scramble up in time to see the seal of the Capitol displayed clearly on the portable screen.

Tonight's death reaps is a first in that they feature Careers, much to my elation.

The face of a girl from District 1 is first to appear. Next appears both girls from 2, then a boy from 2, both girls from 4, a boy from 4, Matt from 5, and the girls from 7. My heart quickens as the girl from 10 appears. Finally, the face of Adam Finch of District 12 is shown. My stomach drops as I try to wrap my head around the fact that District 12 has lost yet another tribute. Adam, dead!

The Capitol seal reappears, accompanied by Panem's anthem, before all goes dark and silent again.

Today has been eventful, to say the least. A dozen tributes have been wiped out by an erupting volcano disguised as a picturesque mountain. Adam of District 12 being one of them. Seven Careers are dead, levelling the playing field radically. Doing some mental calculations, I conclude that there are still thirteen tributes left in the arena. Districts 5, 10, and 11 have lost all four of their tributes.

That brutish female from 1 who scared Evelyn is still alive out there, as are the two male tributes from her district. The Career pack now consists on those three, a guy from 2, and a boy from 4.

Securely strapped back to the tree trunk, I reluctantly give in to sleep after tiring myself out with trying to figure out exactly who the other dozen tributes still lurking in the arena are.

My dream is extremely vivid.

I stand in front of the Justice Building, wearing the same dress from the reaping. Suddenly Adam, Meredith, and Evelyn appear. They stand several feet from the Justice Building, facing me with lifeless eyes. After several minutes of just staring, they turn and walk to the bakery. Looking at that bakery, I make out Tyson and Ace from through the window. Adam, Meredith, and Evelyn enter the building. The bakery is then hit by a bomb from a hovercraft that suddenly appeared from nowhere. The building instantly goes up in flames, the massive blast rippling my dress and hair. Just as I run instinctively to see if there are any survivors, someone grabs hold of my wrist. I turn and see Haymitch. He's in his reaping clothes of black shoes, trousers, white shirt, and suspenders. Unexpectedly, he leans a little closer and says urgently, "run". Even more unexpectedly, I find myself listening. As we run the other direction, from my view behind him I see Haymitch's clothes start changing. His white shirt and suspenders shift into a pain black shirt; his trousers into comfortable black running pants; and his shoes morph into sturdy combat boots. I realise he's now in what other male tributes this year wear. Looking down, I see my clothes have changed into my tribute outfit too. We're heading towards a gap between two buildings when they catch fire. The flame spreads, consuming both buildings and creating a wall of fire in our path as they collapse in on each other. Even as I falter and try to slow down, Haymitch pulls more insistently and speeds his pace. Just as we make contact with the wall of flames, I wake up.

I sit up with a start, panting heavily. Sweat trickles down the side of my face despite the cold weather. I look around, forgetting for a moment where it is I actually am. As I am gathering my thoughts, a flicker of light down on the ground catches my attention. I remain frozen in place as the light gets closer and closer. As it does, my ear catches the sound of voices. From what I can make out, there appears to be three people. They continue walking until one of them speak up, "Look, Dylan. I know you're still upset about Tempest, Aqua, and that other guy dying on you, but why are we taking a walk in the middle of the night?"

The person in the lead stops two trees away from where I am, causing the other two to stop. With the torch illuminating his face, I recognise the leader as being a tribute from 4.

"I told you," Dylan was saying, "We're hunting."

"Also," added the third voice, "We're looking for Ruby and Hunter." This third voice belongs to a boy tribute from 1. _So he wants to look for his fellow district tributes._ I recall now that Ruby is the name of that brutish girl from 1.

While they continue talking I focus back on the original speaker. He's from District 2 and from what I hear the others call him CC. I don't remember anyone in 2 by that name, but I do remember a Cameron Cross. _They must call him CC as a nickname_.

Now that I confirm that this is a Career group, I grin at this rare opportunity to take them unawares. Slowly and quietly, I reach for my pack and cautiously pull out the loaded blowgun. Just as I'm about to place it to my lips, they begin heading off again.

"It's too bad about Clearwater. She was really hot," was the last thing I heard one of them say.

From memory, Clearwater was the surname of one of the girl tributes from 4. It might have been Aqua.

As they head further away, I mentally kick myself for not reacting sooner. I'll never have this chance again to take out such strong competition. Shrugging, I put away the gun before trying to catch more sleep.

I wake up the following morning early and feeling hungry. Allowing myself to eat, I get through two strips of dried beef and am halfway through a cracker when a cannon sounds.

It sounds far way but nevertheless I push past the overhanging branches, to see where the hovercraft will pick up the body and therefore determine how close they were.

If they died within reasonable walking distance from here I might not feel safe and, as a result, decide it is time to move on.

Poking my head out, vast green in the corner of my eye draws my attention first. I stare long and hard before my brain finally accepts the truth of what I'm seeing.

To the right, what was desolation left by both the destruction of wildfire and volcano only yesterday, is now a fully grown forest again. Just as it had been at the start of the Games, before any volcano erupted.

At first, I find it hard to actually believe, until remembering where I am and what the Gamemakers actually are capable of doing.

The hovercraft arrives from off in the distance, eventually stoping to fulfil its purpose. One look and I decide it's still too close for comfort. So after eating one slice of fruit, and packing everything away, I carefully pick my way down after determining that the coast is clear below.

Popping a mint into my mouth, I sigh as the image of a single fruit in a seal-up bag reappears in my mind. _I only have one fruit, two pieces of dried beef, three crackers, and several mints left._ After checking my supplies before climbing down the tree, I also confirm two completely empty water bottles in my possession.

The going is slow and the distance covered even slower, what with my ankle hindering me. Fortunately, it's healed enough that I am able to put my whole weight on it.

Hiking back through the woods, I eventually lose my bearings.

A cannon goes off from nearby. My heart pounding wildly, I turn my head every which way, trying to determine from where the sound came from. Unfortunately, it was so loud, that I can't say for sure from where that sound originated. Mind reeling, I simply choose a direction and sort of wing it from there.

As I walk, I pull out the blowgun. Making sure that it's loaded, I take cover behind the shadiest of trees.

Before long, I reach an area where the trees thicken. A sense of finally being safe washes over me before I eventually hear the sound of grunts and muffled shouts. They come from right on the other side of the trees from where I'm standing. I groan at my own stupid luck, but nevertheless remain perfectly still.

Risking a peek, I first see a battle ragging on between two male tributes in a clearing in the woods.

One is clearly bigger and stronger than the other tribute, but the smaller one is much faster. So fast is the battle, though, that I am barely able to follow it – never mind trying to see either one of their faces.

While their battle continues, I look further on and see a motionless body on the ground. The body is on its back, with a bloody knife lodged in its throat. A little ways out is another body. This one, too, isn't moving. But because only one cannon has sounded, it is easy to tell that they are not dead yet; but merely incapacitated.

Unable to tear my eyes away from the scene, I watch as the bigger tribute knocks the smaller one to the ground. They tumble until eventually the bigger one is held to the floor by the other, his back towards me. With nothing else to do, the bigger once reaches up, trying to get in a few good scratches. For some unknown reason he is soon screaming in pain. When the smaller one turns his head to the side and spits something out, I can only assume the bigger one got two of his fingers bitten off. The smaller one lunges away. As he reaches for the knife that fell out of his hand when he got knocked down, the bigger one knocks him away again. They begin tumbling and wrestling for the knife. The bigger one eventually wins out, pinning the smaller tribute and grasping the knife just seconds before his opponent was about to get it. He then proceeds to stab the tribute beneath him, missing by mere inches when the other tribute has sense enough to move his head to the side. Just as the bigger tribute is about to take another stab at his opponent, the smaller one stops him by getting a hold of both his hands. The bigger one pushes the knife towards the other tribute, who pulls it away from himself with just as much determination. They release their strength at the same time. The smaller tribute pushes the knife to the side just as the bigger one pushes it downwards. The tribute underneath takes advantage of the bigger one's imbalance and knocks him over with his shoulder. The big one ends flat on his back. Before he can do anything other than groan, his opponent snatches up the knife and slices his throat.

Another cannon sounds.

With both our attentions turned to the now dead body, neither the smaller tribute nor I see the third tribute stand up.

He charges quickly from behind, effectively knocking out the smaller one's knife. They scuffle about, landing punches and kicks whenever the opportunity presents itself. At one point the smaller of the two tributes nimbly elbows the bigger one right in the jaw. Eventually the bigger one has the other subdued, however. Their backs to me, I am still able to watch the scene unfold as he holds the enemy in a one-handed headlock, the other hand reaching for a deadly knife from a sheath belted to his pants. He does this slowly and deliberately.

"Too bad that hot blonde girlfriend of yours isn't here to save you," he taunts.

On his knees, the smaller tribute squirms about uselessly. Using his hand to claw at the enemy, he turns his head for a moment. Only a moment. But it's enough for me to clearly see that the smaller tribute who is about to get his throat sliced opened is Haymitch Abernathy.


	16. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The bigger tribute finally draws out his knife. "Never mind though. I'll just kill you now and her later," he continues taunting. "That'll teach you both to stare boldly at us in the Training Centre."

Just as he's actually using the knife on Haymitch, I reflexively raise the blowgun to my mouth and let loose a dart.

The dart lodges itself in the back of the big tribute's neck. Soon he starts coughing, a gurgling noise telling me that he must be coughing up blood. He releases Haymitch, who holds onto his neck and quickly moves out of the way. The bigger tribute falls to the ground just as a third cannon fires.

Haymitch finally gets back on his feet. He looks to the dead tribute that was just about to kill him. Then he looks around, searching for other tributes in the area. Without me giving it any orders, my legs carry me forwards. I am vaguely aware of stepping out of the woods and into the clearing. My movements catch Haymitch's attention. He watches, evidently shocked, as I cautiously cover the distance it takes to get to him.

We never take our eyes off each other. The blowgun is deliberately held to my side, pointed downwards and away from Haymitch. He seems to understand that I mean him no harm but doesn't offer to say anything either.

"We'd live longer with two of us," I venture cautiously, keeping a wary eye on him.

"Guess you just proved that," Haymitch replies, rubbing his throat. "Allies?"

I think of that word and what it means; the benefits and drawbacks of being in an alliance with anyone. Finally deciding that the benefits definitely outweigh the downsides, I nod.

Blood trickles between the fingers Haymitch clamps over his throat. Wordlessly, I dig into my bag and pull out the last of my sterile cloth. "Do you have any water?" I ask, to which he shakes his head. "Then I won't be able to clean that wound on your throat, but we should at least bandage it up. What do you say?"

"Sure," Haymitch agrees. He takes his bloodied hand away and I bite back a gasp. The cut isn't big but it sure looks deep. It's a wonder Haymitch is still even conscious. Gently but firmly, I manage to bandage up the wound. With his neck now bandaged, I think back to my own neck with its covered cloth. The sting doesn't itch anymore and so I take off the bandage. Haymitch looks at the mark on my neck before saying, "I have something for that rash." _So it did turn into a rash._

From his own pack he produces a small white tube.

"What is it?" I ask apprehensively.

"Some Capitol cream that heals burns, scratches, and rashes." He hands it to me.

I rub some cream on my neck before passing the tube back. "Thanks."

He nods in acknowledgement, putting the tube away.

I turn my attention back to my second kill and recognise him as being from 1. What's more, I know him to have been part of the Career pack from last night. Then I look at the other dead bodies. The one with a knife in his throat looks like CC. And the one Haymitch just killed, after biting off his fingers, is Dylan of District 4.

Haymitch retrieves his knife from off the ground and I search the three bodies for weapons. The only weapon 1 had on him is the knife he tried to kill Haymitch with. I pick it up and examine it. The black handle is extremely smooth ivory and the blade itself is Dao-shaped. Deciding that it is a good weapon, I take the sheath and belt it on. After placing the knife in its sheath, I examine Dylan. He doesn't have anything on him. The only weapon on CC is the knife in his throat. Not exactly thrilled with the idea of pulling it out, I leave it where it is.

When a hovercraft comes and collects bodies, any weapons on them will be permanently removed from the Games. Any chance of getting rid of even one less weapon that could be used against either Haymitch or me sounds too good to pass up.

I then look around for their supplies. When I find it piled against a tree, I tell Haymitch.

Together, we begin rummaging through the supplies of the Careers we just killed. A long spear and electrified net solves the mystery as to why Dylan didn't have any weapons on him. _These must be his,_ I think, examining them. Altogether we are able to scavenge some cans of coke and bottles of orange juice, ham sandwiches, chocolate bars, mints, and a torch.

Not being a huge fan of coke, I give them all to Haymitch. As such, we agree I'll keep all the orange juice.

"They didn't even bother to collect any medical supplies or plain water," I say incredulously, adding some of my mints to their nearly empty container. "Not to mention they didn't have as much things as I expected them to."

Wordlessly I pass the Careers' containers of mints to Haymitch. He takes it with a nod of thanks, putting it in his pack.

In silent agreement, Haymitch and I dump the Career bags back against a tree.

"So," I begin, turning to Haymitch, "which way should we go?"

"This way," he responds, heading to the edge of the clearing and back into the woods.

"And where exactly are we? I got lost after a while."

"The centre of the woods."

Just before I renter the woods, I look up and judge the time to be about an hour after noon.

We walk for a very long time, with Haymitch leading the way. _He certainly seems to know which way to go_. Breaks are few and far in between, with each lasting no more than five minutes.

Eventually, it gets too dark to walk any further. We settle against a log, finishing off the rest of my fruit and beef strips. Soon, the anthem is played.

Haymitch and I climb the nearest tree to get a clear view of the night sky.

Tonight's death recaps begin with the boy from 1. _My kill._ Then his face is followed by CC of 2, Dylan from 4, and the boy from 9. I can't shake the feeling that the boy from 9 looks really familiar.

"I wonder how he died," I wonder out loud as his photograph is replaced by the Capitol seal.

"He suddenly spewed out blood and collapsed. No one touched him," replies Haymitch unexpectedly.

I turn to him, intrigued. "And if you were to hazard a guess, how exactly did he die?"

Haymitch shrugs. "Poison; this is a poison paradise, after all."

Thinking back to the last five days, I suddenly remember why 9 looked so familiar.

"Haymitch," I call in an urgent tone, "did he have a bag on him?"

Haymitch shakes his head.

"I knew it." I whisper.

"Knew what?"

"Knew why he looked so familiar. Two days ago, while I was hiding in a tree he happened to walk by. He was alone and I wanted to test out my improved blowgun. The first dart missed him but he got grazed by the second one. As he was running away, he dropped his backpack."

It takes awhile for Haymitch to process what was just said. "So he really might've been poisoned," he eventually says. "If so, then he would be considered your kill.

I feel Haymitch's eyes on me as I take that statement in. _So my kill count may very well be three – not two._

Not entirely sure how to handle it, I begin the climb down. "It's late. I'll take first watch," I offer.

Haymitch soon follows after. "No, let me."

"It's okay," I say, remembering the dark circles under his eyes and the occasional yawn he lets out. "I don't mind."

"Donner, please. I said I'll do it."

It's more the tone than the words that changes my mind. There was definitely some pleading and wiriness to it, but also an underlying steadfast resolve.

"Okay," I give in, albeit reluctantly. "Make sure to wake me when you're feeling tired." I lie down and, using my backpack as a pillow, pull my jacket over to serve as a crude blanket.

For all intent purposes, I appear to be sleeping. But I'm wide awake with my hand wrapped around the hilt of my knife. The truth is that I don't completely trust Haymitch. There must be a reason he insisted on taking first watch. Maybe he doesn't trust me. The idea is ludicrous, seeing as how I saved his life and, by extension, given him a reason to trust me.

In contrast, he has yet to give me a reason to trust him. Sure he shared some cream and food, but that could have been a ruse to get me to lower my guard. Be that as it may, I don't want to die a stupid death. Being too trusting and dying in your sleep is to me considered a stupid death.

A tactic I try to keep myself awake is mentally listing those tributes still out there based on the death recap shown tonight.

Of the Career pack only two are left, both of whom are from 1. The brothers from 7 are still alive too. And obviously two from 12 are also alive. There is a handful more, but they are the only ones remaining of their district. I'm only interested in listing the pairs.

It also comes to my notice that now Districts 2, 4, and 9 are out of the running to produce a victor this year.

Someone is shaking me by the shoulders. Immediately, I tighten my hand that is holding the knife. A panic engulfs me as I feel nothing but air. I grasp around blindly until a voice halts my action.

"Donner, awake up. It's your turn to keep watch." _I recognise that voice_.

Opening my eyes, I see a silhouette of someone crouching beside me.

"Don-"

"I'm up. I'm up," I say, slowing sitting up. Haymitch moves back to his original spot, only instead of leaning against the fallen trunk he lies down. "How long did you let me sleep for?"

"About five hours."

Guilt eats away at me. "You shouldn't have let me sleep for so long."

A grunt is the only acknowledgement I get that he heard me. Huffing in annoyance, I keep quiet so as to allow Haymitch to sleep. Lifting my jacket to put on, I see where my knife went. I pulled it out of its sheath in my sleep. Considering myself extremely lucky not to have been stabbed by it, I put it back.

Leaning with my back on the fallen tree trunk, I curse myself for falling asleep so quickly. I had resolved to stay awake as long as possible but evidently that wasn't long at all. I guess I never realised how much sleep I needed to catch up on. Being in this arena, I've been averaging about three hours of sleep each night. Getting these two extra hours feels great. Also, the fact that I'm alive means that I can trust Haymitch after all.

Musing over current events, like gaining an ally and killing more people, I dutifully fulfil my duties as a watchman. I strain my ears for any suspicious sounds and strain my eyes for any moment. Feeling as though my breath must smell awful I pop a mint in my mouth, cursing the deprivation of a toothbrush.

Nothing out of the ordinary occurs during my shift. Nocturnal creatures roam about freely in their domain of darkness. Bats fly overhead, using echolocation to hunt prey. Spiders sit patiently on their webs. Owls of different kinds dart swiftly between trees.

Needing to stretch, and wanting a better vantage point, I climb the nearest tree and continue the rest of my watch from there.

Watching the radiant sun rising in the east, I'm overcome by a peaceful sensation. The brilliant colours displayed in the sky looks like something from out of a painting. And below, slowly as the sun rises higher, the world comes alive with colour. It's a slow but steady progress.

I continue to sit and watch the sun bring new life to the world. Soon, my attention is turned back to the sleeping form of Haymitch.

Despite the hours he has spent sleeping, he still looks extremely exhausted. I briefly wonder how much sleep he has had since entering the arena and if I look as tired as he does.

Feeling that he deserves to sleep more, I decide not to wake him up. He can get up on his own. And that's exactly what he does four hours later.

Haymitch sits up so fast, I am shocked enough to nearly fall down from my place in the tree. He looks around wildly, for what or who, I cannot say. It's difficult to say for sure from here, but his face looks like a mixture of hurt, anger, and betrayal.

I open my mouth and am about to say something when he suddenly gets up, putting on his jacket, and shoulders his pack. As he takes one step, I find that I am no longer able to keep quiet.

"I hope you aren't planning to ditch your ally."

Haymitch quickly finds me perched on a low hanging branch. "There you are. And no, I –"

"Save it. Let's just eat," I say, getting down.

We finish off my plain crackers and have one ham sandwich each.

As we stand and get ready to move off, Haymitch stares at me intently.

"What?" I ask defensively, feeling self-conscious. Instead of answering, Haymitch moves in closer to me. I automatically take a step back. He moves forward again, eventually backing me up against a tree. Haymitch places his right hand on the tree behind me, trapping me on one side with his arm. He blocks the only other exit by placing his body slightly to that side.

"What?" I repeat weakly.

Haymitch then lifts his left hand towards my face. I move my head away futilely. Holding my face in his hand, Haymitch slowly brushes my lower lip with his thumb.

Then just as quickly, he lets go of my face and takes a step back.

"Drink some juice. Your lips are dry," is all that he eventually says.

I self-consciously touch my lips to confirm the truth in his words. Sure enough, they are chapped. Taking out a bottle of orange juice, I turn to Haymitch. "Fine, but you should have a drink too."

Haymitch obediently takes out a can of coke and wordlessly begins forging through the woods. I follow without compliant.

The day seems much longer than usual with Haymitch insisting that we cover as much distance as we can. But like a good ally, I comply without as much as a word of protest or objection.

It's the late afternoon before I convince Haymitch to take a break.

Sitting comfortably in a tree, Haymitch and I each eat another ham sandwich.

"Here."

I look up one branch above me to where Haymitch sits and see an almost empty packet of Oreos in his hands. Taking it, I notice only one left.

"It's okay. You have it."

Haymitch shakes his head and pushes the offered Oreo packet back towards me. "You shared your food. It's only fair you have the last one."

"Thanks," I say gratefully, eating the Oreo in three bites. Thinking about it, I notice Haymitch has a handful of deep, angry bite marks all over his arms.

"Haymitch," I ask, "What did that to your arm?"

He looks down at his arm, as though just now remembering it. "Oh, squirrels."

"But I thought squirrels are nucivorous."

Haymitch barks once darkly. "Not those Capitol mutts."

"I thought it strange that their fur had a golden tint," I muse.

"And the sharpest teeth for any land animal."

"So, are they carnivores?"

"Yeah," Haymitch answers, "I saw them ravening the corpse of a wild deer."

"Delightful," I remark sarcastically.

"They're small, but they outnumber their prey easily." We then each have another drink of juice or coke before moving off again.

We trudge along the dense woods. As we do so, I notice birds of all kinds including hummingbirds, woodpeckers, and sapsuckers. Several trees have acorns buried within them, evidently the work of woodpeckers. The bigger species of birds perch on trees, preening their feathers. Spider webs dangle precariously from the undersides of trees. A pair of chipmunks chase each other around a thick tree before disappearing into that same tree. Once, as we took a break, I noticed the corpses of insects infected by the Cordyceps fungus.

We head deeper into the woods, both of us constantly watchful and alert.

During another break, Haymitch takes the opportunity to sharpen his knife.

He takes out a whetstone from his pack and unsheathes the knife at his waist. With the knife out in the open, I get a good look at it.

Haymitch's knife has a grey leather handle and the blade is a spear point.

"Nice knife," I blurt out.

He doesn't look up from his task. "Thanks."

"Did you take it from another tribute or-"

"It came from the Cornucopia; along with this whetstone."

"Ah" I manage, and with that it's time to go again.

It's a good deal after dusk when I suggest that we stop for today. He eventually agrees when hunger wins out.

This time we hide amongst the bushes.

We eat more of the Careers' ham sandwiches and drink our respective drinks.

Just as I think that's all the dinner we are getting tonight, Haymitch pulls out half a loaf of garlic bread from his backpack. He shares half of it and I accept the loaf appreciatively.

After a decent dinner, we sit in comfortable silence for awhile.

"I'll take first watch," Haymitch states.

Not having an ounce of strength left to protest, I lie down and get comfortable.

Needless to say, there are no deaths to announce tonight.


	17. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

I wake to my body shaking. This time, though, it's not shaking because someone is waking me up. It's shaking because I'm really cold. The coldness in the ground seeps right into my body. My jacket has shifted while I've been asleep, also exposing my upper body to the extreme cold.

I'm just about to pull up my jacket when it shifts itself. Well, by it-self, I mean by someone. And by someone, I mean Haymitch.

Not entirely sure what to do, I go on pretending that I'm asleep, keeping my eyes shut. I do allow a sigh of contentment as my body instantly becomes warmer.

Lying there for another ten minutes or so, I slowly get up. I make a show of waking and sitting up.

"It's not your shift yet," Haymitch says. "Sleep some more."

"That's okay. I'm not sleepy," I reply.

"So try."

These two simple words rub me the wrong way. I've been letting Haymitch get away with telling me what to do too often that he thinks he has more power over me than he does. Well that's about to change.

"I'm not going back to sleep. So either you can stay up with me, or you can take this chance to get some _much_ needed rest." I emphasise the word much.

Haymitch's reply is most definitely one that I expected. "Nightmares?"

"No," I answer truthfully. Come to think about it, this talk of nightmares has me thinking of Konrad. He once mentioned recurring nightmares and plaguing feelings of guilt. But at its worst, my dreams since coming here has been bad – never nightmares, though.

 _Maybe there'_ s _something wrong with me._

"Look," I begin. "You-"

Turning towards Haymitch, I see that he's already lying down and breathing heavily. He must have been so tired and is already sleeping.

Amused, I turn to the sky and see whether I can make out any stars through this canopy of black trees. From this angle, many of the trees look like spidery hands reaching out to grab their next victims. I pop another mint into my mouth and allow my thoughts to keep me company as I keep watch for the rest of the night.

The sun has risen for several hours now before Haymitch finally gets up. I smile broadly. Not going to lie; sentry duty is boring.

"Morning," I say.

Haymitch merely grunts.

For breakfast, we go through two more ham sandwiches. Afterwards, we break a chocolate bar in half and try one each. It's really quite nice.

Then is our usual custom, each either holding a can or bottle, we resume our journey. Picking up where we left off yesterday, Haymitch leads the way.

Given how much distance we covered yesterday, I'm amazed my legs haven't given up on me yet. I suppose it's only a matter of time though.

As we trek along, we pass by a dazzling little pond, with stunning mayflies and graceful water striders in abundance all around. In silent agreement, we pass on, not so much as considering testing the water out somehow. After all, this arena truly is a poison paradise as Haymitch said.

One time during a break I remember something I've been meaning to ask Haymitch, not that I ever imagined I'd actually get the chance.

"What exactly did you do for the Gamemakers that would result in you getting such a high score?" I ask.

Haymitch recounts this amazing tale.

"As Evelyn and Adam said, the Gamemakers had the attention span of a five year old by the time I got to see them. Before I could do anything else, I first had to somehow get their attention. I did that by throwing a small axe at one of the lights hanging above the ceiling. The explosion of noise and sparks did the job nicely. Then I started throwing knives at target practice. Only, instead of aiming to get as many knives in the centre as possible, I used them to spell out the word DIE. Savouring their reaction, I then turned and left without being excused."

And that is the story of how Haymitch earned his training score of ten.

"That's similar to what I did," I mummer.

"How so?"

I then give a recount of my experience during that private session.

We continue on through the endless arena. Haymitch insisting that we keep moving most times when I ask for a break.

I don't question it; yet.

During another break, I ask Haymitch if I could borrow his whetstone.

"Sure," he says, handing it over to me.

I watch in fascination as the smooth stone sharpens the edge of my knife. It feels rather soothing to use the whetstone. The whetstone even seems to polish my knife somewhat. Once done, I return it and we resume our hike.

As we walk on, a dragonfly zips by to the pair of us. It goes in circles around Haymitch twice before circling me. It circles my head once, before actually landing on my hair. Surprised more than anything, I hold out my hand to see whether or not it will land there. It does. I smile at the sight of it on my wrist. Then without warning, I feel the quick sharp sting of a bite.

"Ow!" I say, swatting it away. Before my hand can make contact with the dragonfly, it's already gone.

"That's why you can't allow yourself to be fooled by anything in the arena," Haymitch remarks, keeping his eyes straight forward still.

Still walking, I inspect the bite. There is no bite mark anywhere to be found. Shrugging, I persist on walking. As I do, a sudden cold washes over me. My head begins to pound painfully. Cradling my head in both hands, I fall to my knees. Haymitch finally turns around.

"What's wrong?" he asks, standing in front of me.

I look up. "Nothing; it's nothing." Then I look around. "But we shouldn't be out here."

"Why?"

"Because we're out in the open," I reply softly, shrinking from the thought. "Someone might see us," I continue whispering.

"Donner, its fine. _You_ were fine with it until just a moment ago. Right before you –" Haymitch looks at me, as though just realising something.

"What?" I ask, my voice rising in fear.

"Never mind, it's-"

"What is it?" I scream in alarm, my pulse quickening drastically.

"Keep your voice down, Donner. It's nothing. Really. Let's go," Haymitch says soothingly, as though addressing a kid.

"Why are you talking like that?" I whisper.

"No reason. Now we better get going," Haymitch says urgently. He pulls me up and it's now I realise I'm shaking.

"Haymitch, look," I raise my hand, "I'm shaking."

"That's nice." He pushes me onwards. "But let's move."

"Do you think its hyperthermia?" I ask, moving my legs forwards as Haymitch presses on.

A thought stops me dead in my tracks. "Do you think I'm dying?" I ask loudly in panic at the thought.

I drop to my knees again. "I don't want to die! I don't want my family to see me die!" I begin screaming in fear.

Haymitch crouches with a knee on the ground and places a hand over my mouth. "Stop screaming!" He hisses lowly. Then in a softer tone, "you're not going to die of hyperthermia, okay?"

I stare into those intense grey eyes and remain silent.

"Now, I'm going to let go," Haymitch says slowly. "But only if you remain quiet, understood?"

I nod.

"Good." True to his words, Haymitch slowly releases the hand covering my mouth.

"But how do you know I won't die of hyperthermia?" I ask quietly.

"Because I won't let you," Haymitch answers. "Now can we go?"

I nod and we both get up. We move forwards into the woods, shadows popping up behind every tree. _Someone's following us!_ My heartbeat quickens.

"Haymitch," I whisper shakily, "someone is following us."

He looks around quickly. "No there isn't."

"Really, they're hiding behind the trees," I insist loudly.

"Okay, okay."

"So what do we do?"

"Let's-"

The sudden sound of a stick breaking silences Haymitch. Riddled with a whole new level of terror, I feel a scream building up. Turning my wide eyes to Haymitch, I see him shake his head. He seems to know what I'm about to do and is silently telling me not to.

Seconds tick by and another stick breaks. My nerves, which had been on tripwires as thin as filaments, finally snap. The impeding scream that was slowly building up is released in a torrent of volume.

Vaguely, I'm aware of the sound of pounding footsteps getting closer.

A blur of movement to my right suddenly pushes me towards a tree. I try to scream but realise a hand is covering my mouth. I try to kick but my legs are trapped by another pair of legs. I try to punch but my arms are firmly behind the tree. Finally gaining some sense, I realise that it's Haymitch who has me pinned. His whole body is pressed right up against mine, to stop me from thrashing about. He is shushing into my ear and telling me to be quiet. Reluctantly, I obey as he continues looking at something over my shoulder. I turn my head slightly to get a glimpse of what he's looking at. A large pack of golden squirrels run about in a frenzy. Some are fighting each other while the younger ones are clearly playing. The alpha, and the biggest squirrel of the lot, is sniffing the air.

This sight sends me into another panic attack. I double my efforts to escape from the tree and am screaming in Haymitch's hand.

"Calm down," he hisses. "They rely mainly on smell. If we remain here maybe they won't smell us and will just go away."

 _Big maybe._

However, the words do calm me down a fraction. We remain silent and still for several minutes. Eventually, the alpha squirrel squeaks and runs off. The rest of its pack follows soon after.

Haymitch and I remain where we are for a few more moments, until we are sure the squirrels aren't going to come back this way.

Haymitch releases me. Taking a step away, I breathe a sigh of relief. _They're gone._

It's silent until Haymitch finally speaks.

"Here's an idea. Let's have lunch in a tree."

I _am_ hungry and so agree enthusiastically.

We soon come across and good sturdy tree. After climbing it, we eat the rest of the ham sandwiches as they are beginning to smell off. We have a chocolate bar each, deciding that half a bar is not enough.

Getting through another bottle of orange juice, I sit and wait for Haymitch to tell me it's time to head off again. Even after he finishes his coke, he doesn't say anything, like I expected him to. I find it weird, sure, but I wasn't about to suggest that we get a move on. I'm not ready to forge through the scary woods just yet. Besides, it feels so peaceful up here where it's safe.

We're in the tree for another half an hour when I suddenly feel that pounding headache again. Another cold washes over me and I look up from cradling my head. Although I'm aware of what happened in the last hour, I still feel like I've just woken up from a dream.

"What happened?" I ask groggily.

Haymitch looks around at me from the other side of the tree.

"Capitol mutt, more likely than not," he says.

"Ah."

"I'm not sure if you remember what happened in the last hour or-"

"No," I interrupt. "I remember. It must've been the dragonfly."

"My thoughts exactly," Haymitch agrees.

"The Gamemakers used the dragonfly and tampered with my limbic system," I conclude.

"Specifically speaking, they heightened your amygdala. Judging by how you reacted accordingly to their mental manipulation."

"What do they hope to achieve by doing that?"

"Maybe that mutt was designed to make their victims scream loud enough in fear to attract other tributes. Or they could be designed to drive their victims insane," Haymitch speculates.

"In any case, let's get going," he continues.

As we weave through the foliage of trees in the woods, I wrack my brain for possible reasons Haymitch had for keeping us in the tree longer than usual. Unfortunately, no reasons come to mind except the one I know to be true.

He wanted me to stay away from any fear-inducing stimulants. I was a liability for the last hour. But if it meant we got to rest a little more, I don't mind.

"You could've left me," I still find myself saying.

"Why?"

"Because I was a liability," I reply. "I was screaming and could have gotten us killed."

"You saved my life once. I was returning the favour. We'll call it even."

Trees pass by in a blur as I muse over what life was like before entering this arena.

 _It seems like a lifetime ago._

Actually thinking back to it, we've been in here for a week now. It's been exactly seven days since Alex accompanied me on the hovercraft that brought me here. And it has been longer still since the last time I saw my family's face, Jasmine included.

It would be so amazing to be able to see them all again. At first, entering the arena with forty-seven other tributes, I knew the chances of seeing them again wouldn't be very high. I'm not stupid. I'm realistic enough to know what my chances of survive in this Games is. But with every passing day, and with each death announced, I feel my hopes building and my chances rising. Maybe seeing them again isn't such an impossible dream after all, as I had originally thought.

But then I think of those who will _never_ get the chance to see their families again. Three of whom were killed by me. But I had to do it to survive. They would have killed me, given the first chance they got. And yet, there are innocent lives lost here, who didn't deserve to die. Like Evelyn. She may not have had any blood-related family to go back to, but those at the community home were her family. She had grown up knowing them, learning from them, and playing with them.

 _You nearly always won at hide-and-seek back at the community home,_ I hear in my head.

Of course that has me thinking about Adam. He may have been a prejudiced person, but from the way he interacted with Evelyn shows me that he wasn't all bad. He'd just grown up under bad circumstances. It almost brings me to tears to think that neither of them are here and that neither of them will ever be able to go home.

I trudge along, determined not to get too caught up with emotions. Emotions can lead to blunder. Blunder can lead to death.

"Can we take a break now?" I ask after two and a half hours of ceaseless walking.

"Not yet," Haymitch replies. "We can't stop until we've cover more distance."

"Why?"

Haymitch chooses not to answer.

Rolling my eyes, I follow along behind him. Looking at him at present, I'm only just now completely aware of how fortunately I was to run into him in the arena. Of all the tributes that could have faced those three monstrous Careers, it was Haymitch who drew the short straw there. And of all the different paths I could taken, I accidently stumbled upon the one that would lead me to where that battle took place, allowing me to save Haymitch's life right on time.

 _Life sometimes works in mysterious ways._

An hour later and I finally get the break I've been pestering Haymitch for.

I collapse on the overgrown tree root, glad to be able to relieve my legs of the burden of carrying my weight for so long.

My legs are throbbing with pain and so I massage them better. They earned a well-deserved rest. I lean back, my arms stretched out and supporting me, and swing my legs to release the tension still stubbornly there even after the massage. Feeling thirsty, I then help myself to a bottle of orange juice.

Then, much sooner than I would like, Haymitch is saying it's time to go. I get up and start following him, but not before looking back mournfully at that overgrown tree root I was just sitting on.

Looking at the back of Haymitch now, I can't help but wonder just how many he has killed since being in the arena. My kill count is up to three, but what's his? I would ask but he isn't likely to answer. Besides, knowing that won't benefit either one of us. That is what he would likely say anyway, I'm pretty sure.

It is early dusk and I begin to wonder how much longer we have to hike for until our next break, when Haymitch suddenly stops.

Fortunately I stop in time and manage to avoid bumping into him.

"What is it?" I ask, standing on tiptoes and trying to get a look over his shoulders.

"See for yourself," Haymitch replies, stepping to the side and pointing in front of us.

My face, which had had a neutral expression, changes immediately to that of pure shock. For there, deep in the middle of the dense woods, with just enough space between it and the surrounding trees to allow the front door to open fully, is a cabin.


	18. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

There is a cabin in the woods. There is a cabin in the _arena_. I try to wrap my head around the thought even as I observe the place.

The cabin is made of large logs, with a big window displayed in the front. The roof is compiled of old shingles. There is an eighty-two cm width of clear land around the perimeter of the cabin. It appears abandoned and unused for months.

"Let's take a look inside," I suggest.

"Sure," Haymitch replies, pulling out his knife. "But I'm going in first."

Unsheathing my own knife, I follow as Haymitch walks to the door. Quietly, he turns the handle and pushes the door in. The whole time his other hand grips onto the knife, raised up and ready to use anytime.

The cabin is pitch black and smells of stale air. Not a single sound comes from inside. Cautiously, Haymitch finds the light switch and flicks it on. It is completely empty, and so we step inside.

We stand in the single-most biggest room the cabin has. To one corner is a kitchen cabinet, with two others on either sides of it. Another corner is taken up by a small kitchen table and two chairs. The other corner is occupied by a bed. And a brick fireplace sits in the forth corner. The wooden floor creaks, and looks old, but is otherwise in good condition. The wallpaper is fading, frayed, and ripped in several places, but is also otherwise okay too.

In fact, considering how the outside looks, I expected the interior to be on the dilapidated side. But it all looks rather nice. All things considered.

It doesn't look much different to an average Seam house, I realise.

I go to the kitchen sink, which has a big window placed over it. After turning the tap, I discover that it produces running water.

"Look, Haymitch," I call his attention, "water. But I wonder if it's safe to drink."

"If you use that kettle to boil," Haymitch points out, "it should be fine. Most poisons in the arena act just like bacteria and can therefore be neutralised when heated at a high temperature."

"How do you know that?" I asked, amazed.

"I had a theory by the second day. After boiling some water I got from a pond, I tested it. And as it turns out, my theory was correct." He doesn't elaborate any more.

"Oh. Okay then." Finding the kettle, I fill it up and leave it to boil. Fortunately, the stove is in working condition.

I notice then a small archway in the wall between the kitchen table and the bed. Entering through the archway, I discover that it leads to a bathroom.

"There's a bathroom in here!" I exclaim.

Haymitch leans against the archway, pocking his head in to have a look himself.

It's not very big. Just spacious enough to accommodate a small sink, toilet, and shower. The floor is tiled and the wall matches that of the wall in the main cabin. A small window is placed right above the toilet.

I stare longingly at the shower.

Even in merchant houses, showers are nonexistent. The closest thing we have is a wooden bathtub, where you need to draw water from a well. It's only since I've been to the Capitol that I recognise and know how to use a shower.

"Use it," Haymitch says, nodding towards the object of my attention.

"It might not be safe," I reply weakly, the desire to feel clean almost overriding my usual caution.

"It'll be fine. The water in this cabin may well be safe. Besides, any poisons in the arena are only effective when ingested directly into the intestines or bloodstream."

I look at him incredulously. "And how do you know _that_?"

"Observation," Haymitch says simply.

"Okay," I eventually give in. "But first, we need to take care of some things."

"What things?"

"Evidence that this place exists," I reply. "We should turn off the main light out there and just use the light in here."

"The window out there has a blind I'll draw down," Haymitch offers.

"Great," I say, "and the window here doesn't have a blind. But, I'll use a jacket to cover it up." Thankfully it's small enough that not even I can crawl through it. That means it won't take that much to cover.

We go about doing what it was we set out to do until everything is done.

"I'm going to take a shower now. You should rummage through the kitchen cabinets and see if there is anything useful in there," I suggest.

"Okay," Haymitch agrees, taking the torch out of one of the packs we dropped on the bed.

Satisfied, I go back into the bathroom and quickly undress. I drop my clothes in a pile before hoping into the shower and drawing the curtain that separates it from the rest of the bathroom.

I let the sprinkle of water wash down on me, careful not to let it get into any deep cuts least the water be poisonous. It feels soothing as I clean my hair thoroughly, looking down and watching the muck and dirt get washed down the drain.

Feeling clean and all better again, I get out. I then take a towel that is hanging on a hook and dry myself off. As dry as can be, I put my clothes back on and step back into the main room.

Seeing Haymitch lying down on the bed, one arm over his eyes and one leg bent at the knee, I ask, "Found anything?"

He simply shakes his head.

"That's okay," I continue, "There's a toilet roll we could use as bandages in there."

"Take it," Haymitch says, not changing his position. Rolling my eyes, I get the toilet roll and put it in a backpack.

"You should take a shower too," I state. "It'll be dark soon. Take a shower, and then we'll eat."

"Okay," Haymitch says, getting up and heading for the bathroom. I grab the torch left on the bed and decide to explore outside. Turning the handle, I pull the door open. Or at least it is _meant_ to open. I try again. No luck. I put the torch down and am about to try a third time when I hear hushed voices.

"Yeah, she's in there. Hurry up and get the blowtorch, Hunter."

"It's right here."

I go deathly white. Hunter is the name of that District 1 tribute.

Hurriedly, I rush into the bathroom.

A shirtless Haymitch turns around at the sound of me entering. He's just about to pull his pants down, having unbuttoned and unzipped them already, when he sees me.

"Donner, what-" he begins.

"Shh!" I warn. "Tributes. Two of them."

"Do they know we're here?" Haymitch asks, putting his pants back on.

"No," I answer with a shake of my head, "they think it's only me. Haymitch, they're going to torch this cabin with us in it."

Haymitch grabs his shirt, puts it on, takes down my jacket covering the window, and pushes it though the open window all in a rushed fury.

"Okay, get our bags and throw them out there," Haymitch instructs, pointing to the window. "But get your blowgun first. If they plan on trapping us, they'll first torch our only easy means of escape."

"The front door," I say dazedly.

"Right," confirms Haymitch, "but we can still jump out the front window. If they figured that much out, we can expect a battle on our hands once we escape."

I nod grimly before hurrying off to retrieve our bags.

The main room begins filling up with smoke. Quickly getting my blowgun, I toss the rest outside.

The front door is on fire now, the flames slowly spreading out.

Haymitch has already pulled the blinds back and is ready to jump by the time I return.

"Let me go first. They're waiting out there, expecting to see you jump out."

"But when they see you," I follow, "they will hesitate in confusion. We'll have an element of surprise."

"Exactly," agrees Haymitch.

Without another word, he jumps out the window, covering his head with his forearm. I quickly follow suit.

I land in time to hear Hunter say to his ally, "You said she-"

Haymitch and I quickly draw our weapons and go on the offensive.

I aim the dart at the first target my eyes see: the brutish District 1 girl.

From the corner of my eyes, I see Haymitch tackling and slashing at Hunter.

Ruby somehow manages to dodge the dart and runs towards me.

I aim again, this time at Hunter. He merely sustains a scratch. _I need to work better on my aim_ , I think just before I'm tackled to the ground. Upon impact my vision goes black before it's replaced with a sharp burst of white, having smashed my head into the ground. My hand unclenches; dropping the blowgun somewhere I can no longer see it.

On her knees, Ruby puts her legs on either side of my waist before sitting down. I scream as the full weight of her body crushes me.

She grabs a bunch of my hair, lifts my head up, and punches me.

A violent pain like never before consumes my entire face. Hot blood gushes down my now broken nose. My eyes are reduced to slits, not being able to open any wider than they already are.

As Ruby mercilessly pounds in my face again, I somehow manage to retain enough sense to reach towards my hip and draw out the knife strapped there.

As she punches me a third time, she doesn't notice me raise the knife and stab her behind the back of the thigh.

She gives a monstrous animal bellow as I pull out the knife. Before she can react, I stab her hard in the calf. As Ruby releases that animal sound again, I quickly pull out the knife and crawl out from under her before she comes back to her senses. I stand up and get in a defensive stance when Ruby gets back on her feet. Her left leg is unsteady but she manages to stand.

Ruby swings her fist in an upper cut, but I dodge the attack easily. As I dodge, I thrust the knife at her. She screams as the knife finds the side of her torso. I move behind her and kick her back before she even knows what's going on. Ruby lands on the ground, on her knees and hands. As she is about to get up, and I prepare to deflect any of her attacks, there is the sudden blast of a cannon.

We turn our heads to where our district partners are fighting, to see which one of us lost an ally.

Haymitch stands over the body of Hunter, his entire right arm covered to the elbow in blood. Relief overwhelms me at the sight of him still alive.

Ruby screams in frustration at the lost of her ally. She gets up, picks up two bags that were hidden, and runs deep into the woods. Knowing full well she'll be outnumbered if she were to continue fighting.

I go over to Haymitch just as he finishes searching the body for items.

"Find anything?"

In response, Haymitch holds up a blowtorch. I look down to see where the blowtorch came from. Hunter had on him a small pack, in which he carried the small blowtorch in.

"Is there anything else in the pack?" I ask.

Haymitch stares intently at the blowtorch. "No," he finally says. He then gets up and walks past me. "Let's go."

We go to the side window of the cabin and pick up our things. Fortunately, the fire hasn't spread to this side of the cabin yet.

The noise of crackling fire follows us as Haymitch and I move off.

After getting a decent distance away from the burning cabin, we finally find a spot to rest for the night.

With nothing else to eat, Haymitch and I are reduced to one chocolate bar each and some mints. Chewing is particularly painful for me, as I'm pretty sure Ruby broke my jaw. She also split my lip, so that makes eating all the more difficult. My eyes are able to open fully now, but ideally I would like to put some ice on it. My broken nose feels blocked and badly displaced. Fortunately the bleeding has stopped. Wanting to get it sorted out, however, I feel around my nose before correcting it. Thanks to the first aid lesson back at the Training Centre I am perfectly capable.

There is a dull crunch, quickly followed by a flash of pain as my nose shifts place. Not quite there yet, I do it one more time. This time there is a pop before pain shoots up my skull. And with that, my nose is back in place; if a little sensitive.

The anthem plays on time. Tonight's death recap only features Hunter.

Then the anthem ends, leaving the world in silence and darkness again.

As is routine, Haymitch takes the first watch. I lie down, grateful for the loss of another enemy tribute.

A few hours pass by before I wake up. Sitting up, I yawn and stretch my stiff limbs.

"You can rest now," I say, turning to Haymitch. "I'll take over."

Wisely choosing not to argue, Haymitch lies down and gets comfortable. "Don't let me sleep too long."

As I keep watch, I notice that it is now down to the final eight. Back home, our family and friends would be interviewed.

Our private lives would be put on for more show, with family and friends answering personal questions about us.

The sun has risen for an hour when I decide Haymitch would want to be woken up. I get up and kneel down beside him. Shaking Haymitch by the shoulders, I rouse him. He is something of a light sleeper and snaps his eyes open quickly. Haymitch rises onto his forearms, looking at the sky.

"The sun has been up for an hour now," I tell him.

"Okay," his replies.

We then eat a chocolate bar each. As I pop some mints into my mouth and watch Haymitch open his own container of mints, I shake my head. "We can't live off this stuff much longer," I comment.

"Something will turn up," Haymitch replies, opening his last coke. Looking into my pack, I see only one full bottle of orange juice. Pulling out my two water bottles, I find one completely full. The other is empty.

"I had only time to fill one bottle," Haymitch explains, seeing them in my hands.

"So you didn't get to fill your bottle."

"No," answers Haymitch, digging into his pack and pulling out a water bottle. He shakes it. It doesn't make a sound.

I offer my last bottle of orange juice to him. "Here."

Haymitch shakes his head. "You keep it."

"No," I decline flatly. "You gave me a full bottle of water already. You should at least get this." I wave the bottle in front of him.

"It's oka-"

"Something will turn up," I repeat his words. "Just hold onto this for now."

And reluctantly, that's just what he does. I smile in satisfaction.

Once we're packed up and ready to go, we get up and start walking. I mentally steel myself for another hard day of hiking.

The day stretches on, as does the distance we cover with each step we take. Several times I ask for a break. All those times Haymitch would say just a little further, that we couldn't stop just yet.

Eventually, it's midday. We rest, eating a chocolate bar and nothing else, having exhausted the rest of our meagre food supply.

Suddenly, I notice something floating in the sky. I point it out to Haymitch.

"It's a parachute!" I note in wonder, as it gets closer and closer. Never before have I seen a more wondrous or welcomed sight.

As the parachute descends, it gets caught in a tree. Without a word, Haymitch scales the tree its suck in. Soon he is back on the ground with the parachute.

"What did Konrad send?" I ask excitedly. At this point, I'll accept anything.

Haymitch makes short work of the few strings holding the parcel together. He opens it to reveal a whole tin of drop biscuits.

My eyes well up with tears at the sight of those biscuits. Drop biscuits are the standard biscuits of home, so naturally it has me thinking back to District 12 and everything we left behind.

I think of the cracked and cobbled street on which Meredith and I would walk every day. I think of the smell of baking dough as our mother would make these very same ration grain drop biscuits.

Blinking several times, I grin. "Something turned up. Which one of us do you suppose they're for?"

"It doesn't matter. We're sharing them," Haymitch states matter-of-factly, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. I grin even bigger.

By unspoken agreement, Haymitch and I decide not to eat any biscuits yet. We both want to make it last for as long as possible and hold onto our reminder of home for just that moment longer. Deciding to move on instead, Haymitch puts the tin away before moving off.

The day eventually reaches mid afternoon, and yet it feels a lot later. Maybe it's because of the sky not looking as bright as it should. Or, maybe it has to do with the arena being darker than usual for this hour. I begin to wonder if the volcano will soon erupt again. This thought has me feeling extremely anxious.

I look up, panicked. Barely able to hear over the sound of rushing blood in my ears, I register that Haymitch is saying something.

"What?" I ask dumbly.

"Are-" Haymitch stops short of his sentence when something else takes his attention.

"What is it?" I ask again.

Before he answers, I feel something land on my head. Touching that spot, my hand comes back wet. Surprised, I continue to look at my hand before I see a drop of water land on it. The drop is slowly followed by more. And more. And more, before it soon becomes blatantly apparent.

The Gamemakers have sent us rain.


	19. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

"We need to collect as much as possible," Haymitch says, looking up at the rain too.

I nod, knowing instinctively that the rain will be safe to drink. First I get out several empty bottles of orange juice I've been keeping and place them a fallen log, letting them slowly fill up with rain water. Haymitch digs a small hole in the ground, and then covers it with his jacket. He then finds several rocks and places them around the edge of the jacket. Finally, he places some smaller rocks into the centre, causing a depression where water collects.

As Haymitch finds the rocks he needs to keep his jacket in place and to create the indent, I tie my own jacket onto the outstretched branches of two trees. I specifically selected these two trees as they stand far apart enough that the rain falls straight from the sky onto my jacket. It doesn't touch the trees or the leaves.

I hold up one end of the jacket at a steep angle and watch as rain slides down and lands in one spot. Then, looking up I see that Haymitch has finished setting up that water collection system of his.

"Haymitch, let me borrow your water bottle," I call out.

He gets it out and, seeing what I'm doing, places the bottle where the rain lands after taking its lid off.

The bottle is one third of the way full when it starts becoming a heavy burden to keep my arms up. Haymitch takes over and only drops the jacket when his bottle is completely filled.

I check the orange juice bottles and start capping on the lid and putting them away once they're filled too.

As though right on time, the minute I put the last bottle away the rain stops.

Lastly, I get my empty water bottle and begin filling that with the water that got collected on Haymitch's jacket. It doesn't get filled all the way to the top, but there is more water than I expected.

Having taken care of everything, we shoulder our backpacks and resume our hike.

Haymitch leads the way, cautiously watching his every step. It still doesn't prepare him for the trap.

One moment he's there. And the next he isn't. I look down and set that he has fallen into a hole. It's small and a lot deeper than I thought. Even as he jumps it is plain to see that no one can get out of there without assistance of any kind. Accepting this, and as calm as ever, Haymitch gets a line of rope from out his bag. He tosses it up high and is able to actually snag it on a branch. Then he's pulling at it before I stop him.

"Let me help," I offer, climbing the tree and tying the rope securely around the base of the branch, where it grows from the main trunk. "All done," I call down.

Haymitch quickly climbs out from the hole. Once he stands back on solid ground, I untie the rope and toss it back down to him.

"Thanks," he says, putting the rope away.

"Anytime."

Before very long, we're on the move again. Walking away from it, I look back at the hole from over my shoulder. I wonder about its insane deepness. This then raises the question of who had the time and implements to make the hole in the first place. Let alone get out of it all by themselves.

As we rest on some big rocks after several hours of walking, I sit there, rubbing my sore legs, when an idea suddenly comes to me.

"Haymitch," I blurt out, "I have an idea."

He gives me a probing look. "What is it?"

"First, I'm going to need the parachute and the box it came with."

The tin of drop biscuits had been placed inside a box, which had been attached to the parachute.

Unquestioningly, Haymitch takes out what I ask for. As he does, I pull out the rest of my nightlock supply from the pouch of my backpack. I then proceed to place the nightlock into the small box and retie the parachute as it originally was.

"There," I say, passing the parachute back to Haymitch, who puts it away. "Now the next tribute to get a gift will be in for a big surprise."

It takes Haymitch all of five seconds to understand my plan. When he does, he is grinning. "You," he begins, "are a genius."

I can't help but smile at the compliment. Haymitch smiles back and I'm suddenly wracked with the most terrible feeling.

It's been unspoken and unacknowledged, but nonetheless impossible to ignore. This alliance is only temporary. Only one of us will survive, if at all. Having Haymitch around for company these past few days has made it easy to forget the exact situation we're in. He being here has made me feel safe. Getting to know him a little better ever since the reaping, I don't think I could ever kill him. Secretly, I'm hoping that he wouldn't be able to kill me either. But then it occurs to me; Haymitch and I are in an alliance either of us would be hard press to break if either one of us wish to make it back home.

When Haymitch offered this alliance, I only really thought about the advantages. It never occurred to me that we would fall into the trap of the disadvantage I told Caesar and all of Panem about. There's got to be something ironic or poetic about that.

"Donner," Haymitch calls. He's looking at me with concern written on his face. An unspoken question.

I shake my head in reassurance. "It's nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing."

Ignoring his concern, I get up and turn back to him. "Let's go." And that has got to be the first time I ever offer to end a break. Usually, I enjoy them and make the most before they inevitably end.

We hike through the woods at a leisurely pace. Through the small gaps in the canopy of trees above, I can make out that the sky is an azure blue. The sun beats down pleasant warmth for a late afternoon. All around, the woods teem with life. Truthfully, the woods look all the same, so it's a wonder Haymitch seems to know which way to go.

"Where are we going?" I don't expect a reply.

I'm not disappointed. Haymitch remains silent. Rolling my eyes, I continue following.

"Can we take a break?" The last one we took was about two and a half hours ago. My legs are beginning to ache painfully again.

"Not yet. We have to keep going."

"Why?"

Silence from Haymitch. I huff in annoyance but follow along behind him.

Finally, we rest. Sitting on the forest floor with our backs against a tree, Haymitch breaks a drop biscuit in half and hands me a piece. I take small bites, savouring the bland taste that only drop biscuits can produce. A bland taste in the arena only Haymitch and I would agree is priceless, seeing as it _is_ from our home district.

Leaning my head back and closing my eyes, I let the memories wash over me as I continue chewing.

I remember being in our small kitchen with Meredith and our mother. She's making drop biscuits with dark ration grains. We help out with the easy stuff; pouring and mixing. Once the biscuits are ready to come out of the oven, we place them on a cooling rack. I remember being impatient as the drop biscuits cooled. Once they aren't so hot anymore, we placed them in a bowl. We then sat around the table, eating one biscuit each, spreading either butter or jam on them as we wished. That was what we were doing as our father walked in, having closed up the sweetshop for the day. Instead of getting a new biscuit from the bowl sitting on the table, he went right over to our mother and took a bite of the drop biscuit in her hand. She had hit him jokingly. We had laughed.

Then I'm remembering as our family of four sombrely walk to the town square. Meredith and I were a bundle of nerves as we walked in silence. We were twelve and this was to be our very first reaping. Despite the fact that between the two of us, our names were only in the bowl two times, we were absolutely terrified of the prospect of getting reaped. How naive we were.

I think of my very first trip to the Hob with Jasmine. We had snuck out when both our parents were busy running their respective store to even realise their daughters were missing. As we walked there, we chattered away excitedly, speculating on what we can expect of the Hob. There were a lot more Peacekeepers there than either of us expected. Rather than issuing their authority as they usually did, the Peacekeepers were just like any other customer. They sat around eating hot bowls of soup from a big pot sold by Greasy Sae, a scrawny woman who looks to be about sixty. They haggle with a women they call Ripper on the price of the bottles of alcohol she sells them. The Peacekeepers even get some of their uniforms and regular clothes mended and washed by Sasha Abernathy. Now knowing what I know, I figure it must have been hard for her to mend and wash the clothes of the people who killed her husband. But she grits her teeth and does it, because they are willing to pay good money.

Haymitch is nudging me gently. "We're leaving."

Sighing morosely, I get up.

With Haymitch leading us on, it feels like the arena will never end. The woods stretch endlessly. I trudge on sullenly as Haymitch still refuses to answer any questions. The day actually seems longer than usual, prolonging my suffering of being forced to walk. It occurs to me that it is perfectly within the power of the Gamemakers to keep the sun up however long they so wish. Maybe they are intentionally keeping it up longer in the hopes that it will drive me to the brink enough to kill Haymitch. I wouldn't put it pass them.

Resting after three more hours of hiking, I sit, exhausted. After drinking several small sips of water, I begin to feel better already. My mind and head is clear. My shoulders feel better as soon as I take off my backpack, which is somewhat heavy with supplies. However, I know that I need to tend to the cut on my forearm.

Slowly unwrapping the bandage around my arm, my nose is instantly hit with a foul smell. Judging from that putrid odour, I expect the worst. To my relief, it didn't look too bad. Sure, the dried blood looks crusty and the skin around it a little yellow, but it could be worse. I thoroughly clean the wound with some water before wrapping it up again, this time with toilet roll paper.

Still with a little time on my hands, I unclasp my mockingjay pin and give it a little polish. I wipe off the splatter of dried blood that fell on it. Whether it's my blood or that of somebody else's, is beyond me.

Once done, I sit and stare up at the towering trees gently blowing in the wind. We must've been sitting for five minutes. And yet, Haymitch hasn't said anything about resuming our walk. In fact, Haymitch has been more quiet than usual since I began redressing the bandage on my forearm.

Turning to where he sits next to me, at the base of a tree, it is to discover him asleep. Surprised, I watch him breathe in and out rhythmically. Up close, it dawns on me how young and strong he looks, if a little weary. That is only to be expected, given what he's been through. Given what we've _both_ been through.

Shrugging, I lean my head against the tree and close my own eyes.

I crack my eyes open once. In that short time, I am vaguely aware that my head is no longer leaning against the tree. It is tilted to the side, like it were on my shoulder. But it's not my shoulder my head rests on. I'm also aware of some weight resting on my head. That is the last thing my sleep-addled mind registers before my eyes close again.

When I wake up properly, I notice that I'm still resting with my head to the side. This is strange because it's supposed to be leaning against the tree. And what is it even resting on right now anyway? I sit up, noticing something black in the corner of my eye as I do. Turning, I see Haymitch looking back at me.

"Finally awake, are we, Donner?"

"Where was I-"

I look at Haymitch's broad shoulders.

"Oh," is all I can manage. "Sorry for falling asleep," I quickly add.

"It's fine. I was the one who fell asleep first."

I get out my bottle and take several sips of water, preparing myself for a long hike. Because if I know Haymitch, which I unfortunately do by now, he's going to want to keep burning daylight by hiking until night.

As if on cue, he stands up with a "come on" before walking off.

Yawning once, I follow.

It's only early dusk, so now I'm sure the Gamemakers are messing with my head. Grumbling, I try to keep pace with Haymitch who with his longer strides, makes me almost power walk.

Dusk brings along with it plenty of mosquitoes. Tiredly, I swat them away after putting on my now properly dried jacket. Despite the Capitol-allocated jacket being water resistant, the outer lay still took some damage and was there slightly wet.

The mosquitoes buzz around us insistently before a welcomed gale of wind sent them flying elsewhere. Fortunately the jacket fares well in the wind and as a result, it keeps me comfortably warm.

I allow myself the occasional sip of water as I plod along behind Haymitch, both to keep myself hydrated and to keep my strength up.

My legs feel heavy again and I wonder when the last time I exerted them was. Over the past few days, they have worked exceptionally hard. I am rather amazed at the sheer strength of them.

While we continue walking, my mind returns to thoughts of home. Those in District 12 must be glued to their screens, watching as two of its own continues to make it so far in the Games. I'm willing to bet that we are giving them hope they haven't had since Konrad's Games. Our district can really do with the extra gifts of food and spices and delicacies the victor is rewarded. It has been twenty-one years since Twelve produced a victor. Haymitch and I weren't even born. I'm sure Konrad is driven further and further to insanity each year, being forced to watch his tributes die year after year. It has been a couple of years since an outlying district has even won. So if District 12 wins this year, they also achieve being the first outlying district to win the Hunger Games in several years. If Twelve did win this year that still assumes that either Haymitch or I died.

"I wish two people can win the Hunger Games," I suddenly blurt out.

Haymitch gives me an odd look. "You know-"

"But it should be allowed if they were from the same district, don't you think?"

As usual, Haymitch doesn't say anything. He just has this intense look on his face as he mulls over something evidently important.

I huff in annoyance. "You know, Konrad should've made your interview angle reticent and mysterious or something like that."

"How do you figure?"

"It's definitely something you could pull off. You could've been evasive answering all of Caesar's questions. And instead of calling us all stupid, you could've said something about no one caring about what you think."

Haymitch gives a brief laugh. "I didn't call all of you stupid."

"Yes you did." I maintain, amused.

"Okay, fine. But I definitely didn't mean you."

"You better not have," I joke.

"Funny," he drones humourless, a small smile on his face nonetheless.

Secretly, I'm glad Haymitch is talking again. He's been rather quiet and a little cynical since entering the Games. He is no longer the juvenile delinquent he was back in Twelve. I wonder how the Games have affected me; negatively no doubt. But I don't _feel_ like I've changed that much, despite the blood on my hands.

"Do you think I've changed?" I suddenly ask.

"If you mean since the arena, then no," Haymitch replies.

"Seriously?" I ask.

"All things considered, you're doing great."

"All things considered?" I repeat.

"Considering all the things you must've seen and done in the arena, you've done well not to let it get to your head."

"Thanks, but I'm probably still just in shock. I might end up with PTSD."

Post-traumatic stress disorder is something very common among victors.

"What brought about this question?" Haymitch asks.

I hesitate. "No reason," I assure him, "Just curious." Thankfully he doesn't push the subject.

Eventually the world is shrouded a deep shade of purple and we stop for the day.

Choosing a spot behind some thick shrubbery, we rest for the night. We then split another ration grain drop biscuit between the two of us.

Usually, something like half a biscuit would certainly not be enough to sustain me. These biscuits, however, are from home and somehow give me the extra strength I need to function.

After eating, we both sip some much need water from our bottles.

Despite the nap from this late afternoon, I'm still somewhat tired. So I don't question when Haymitch offers to take first watch.

He draws out his knife, ready for a surprise attack should one occur.

Gratefully, I lie down. Resting my head on my backpack, I then pull my jacket over myself.

Nights in the arena usually are cold. The days are sometimes uncomfortably warm.

I close my eyes and allow myself to soon fall asleep. Under the watchful eye of Haymitch, I've never felt so safe sleeping in the arena, and am therefore soon able to fall asleep very quickly.

Tonight there is no death recaps to be shown.


	20. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Having slept several hours, I wake with a start. Sitting up, I feel my erratic heartbeat pounding against my chest. Sweat gathers on my head and tickles down my neck.

"Nightmare?" Haymitch asks from where he sits. In the dark, I can just make out his profile. He leans against his bag, casually tossing his knife and catching it with the precision of an expert.

"It was-" I stop, not even able to remember what my dream was about. If I did in fact have one at all.

I shake my head. "In any case, I can switch with you now if you want." I'm probably not going to be able to get back to sleep even if I tried.

Nodding, Haymitch puts his knife away before lying down.

I then begin keeping watch.

Staying on sentry duty quickly becomes boring and so my mind inevitably wonders.

Before I can stop myself, I'm suddenly coming up with a list of things I'll never get to do should I die here.

The foremost on the list, for some reason, is marriage.

I'll never get to do any of the little traditions involving weddings that District 12 has.

I'll never get to wear the lovely wedding dress my mother wore and has been saving for Meredith and me for our own weddings.

Usually in Twelve the bride rents a white gown that's been worn countless times before.

Seeing as my mother's dress was handmade many generations ago and handed down throughout the years, Meredith and I are spared having to rent a gown.

Anyway, the groom would wear something clean that isn't mining clothes. Then the couple would go to the Justice Building and sign some forms before being assigned a house. Relatives and friends gather for a meal and cake, if it can be afforded. Even without a cake there is always a tradition song the congregation sings when the new couple crosses the threshold of their new home. Then the real ceremony begins when the couple make their first fire, toast a bit of bread, and share it.

I snap out of these thoughts as it becomes almost too painful to think about. Forgetting the list, I become positive and come up with a list of the things I'll do if I ever get out of here.

Dawn approaches slowly. Several times I almost fell asleep at my post. I was only able to keep awake by getting up and walking several circuits around the shrubbery we hide behind.

I'm sitting, watching the surrounding area, when Haymitch wakes.

"You're up early," I comment.

"Couldn't sleep," he admits.

We remain like that in silence for a little while until I suddenly get an idea. "Want to watch the sunrise? It's really beautiful."

"Sure," Haymitch finally replies.

Gathering our things, we climb a tall tree. As we reach the top and push our way through the branches, we are rewarded with the sight of the rising sun.

The sun looks almost white as it emerges from the horizon. The surround sky is a gorgeous wash of colours. Slowly the sleeping world begins to wake as the sun rises higher and higher.

We decide to eat breakfast in the tree, seeing that we are already in it.

As we eat, Haymitch frowns slightly. "These biscuits won't last forever," he says.

There is silence as I slowly come up with something, applying logic to my reasoning.

"We should hunt."

Haymitch gives me an odd look. "Donner, you-"

"Think about," I reason. "The only animals in the arena are specifically designed to kill us the moment we get close to it. The Gamemakers aren't going to suspect someone of actually being insane enough to try and hunt down those things first - least of all to eat."

This new idea intrigues Haymitch. "What about the food they eat and the water they drink?"

For some reason, the Gamemakers have made all the animals immune to the poisons of this place. That's how they've been able to survive off the land.

"If they eat any food and drink the water found in this arena and survive, it means their body has a means of fighting the poisons. I'm willing to bet it gets broken down in the body somehow."

"Okay," Haymitch nods. Then he grins. "Let's hunt."

Even though the woods teem with life, Haymitch and I don't actually encounter any animal until about an hour and a half of walking.

A small raccoon suddenly bounded from out of a tree. It takes one look at us and hisses loudly. The moment we try to get just that little bit closer to it, the raccoon lets loose a small ball of fire from its mouth. Completely and understandably shocked beyond words, I dodge the flaming ball of fire just before it can hit me. I do notice that the tip of my hair is singed. Haymitch dodges the other way. From where I stand, I see him draw his knife. Quickly, I drew mine and aim it at the raccoon before Haymitch can do anything. The knife lands in between its eyes. The raccoon promptly drops dead. I hastily put out the fire caused by the raccoon. The last thing we need right now is an uncontrolled fire. When the fire is out, I make my way back to the lifeless body of the raccoon.

Haymitch is already there, drawing out my knife and handing it back to me. "Good aim," he remarks. "You can prepare the meat. I'll get a fire started."

I hesitate.

"Its broad daylight," Haymitch says, seeing the look on my face, "so the fire won't be that easy to see."

"That's not it," I say.

"Then what?"

I chew my bottom lip, slightly embarrassed. "I don't know how to prepare it."

And it's true. Back home, we brought meat from the butcher. At the Training Centre there was no to time for me to learn that.

"Okay," Haymitch says, "you get the fire started. I'll do this." He gestures to the raccoon.

"Can I watch you first? I'd like to learn, even if it is just by watching."

That throws Haymitch off a little. But he quickly recovers. "Sure," he replies.

So I watch as Haymitch guts, skins, and get rid of any internal organs he deems not edible.

As I watch in fascination at him work away expertly at the raccoon, it occurs to me how often he must do this back home. It all seems second nature to him.

"Done," he announces, looking up from the raccoon. "Your turn."

I begin looking about for dry twigs and sticks. To my surprise, as does Haymitch.

"You don't have to," I protest.

"It'll be faster," he rebuts.

Once we have a sufficient amount of sticks, I stack them in a pile and get a fire started. As I do that, Haymitch spears the raw meat onto two sticks, having cut it in two.

I finally get a fire going. We then each hold our piece of meat over the fire, turning it every now and then.

After awhile of roasting over the fire, Haymitch deems the meat ready to eat.

I quickly extinguish the fire by kicking a handful of dirt over it. Once it has cooled down enough, I take a bite of the cooked meat. Immediately my tongue is flooded with the fatty juices that meat produces.

It doesn't taste bad. I take several more bites before wrapping the rest in the roll of paper I got from the cabin. Haymitch does the same. After cleaning and packing everything up, we're off.

As we hike onwards, I lick my lips still smeared with fatty grease. I relish the taste and think back to the last time I had proper meat. It's been too long.

With my stomach full for the first time in days, and my mind clear with plenty of sleep, I've never felt better since entering the Hunger Games.

Admittedly I'm homesick but between my mockingjay pin, Haymitch, and the drop biscuits, I have plenty of reminders of home.

"So your mother's a seamstress," I say cautiously. Talking of home can be a dangerous thing. It can be even more painful though.

Haymitch flinches visibly but recovers quickly. "How did-"

"I saw her once on my first trip to the Hob."

"Didn't take you for the exploring type," he comments.

"Jasmine and I were curious and really wanted to see it," I explain.

Haymitch doesn't say anything.

"Why is a wooden pawn piece important enough to be your token of home?"

This question clearly shocks Haymitch. "How could you possibly-"

"The morning of the day we had our private sessions with the Gamemakers."

"Ah. Well my father had been collecting the pieces. He said that once he collects them all, he'll teach me to play chess. And he almost did complete collecting them. It took him weeks of searching and trading at the Hob. That was until…"

Haymitch trails off, but I know he means that that was until he died.

"But why a pawn?" I ask.

"That was the first piece he found, along with the board."

"Oh."

"I bring it to every reaping to remind myself that even a pawn like me might be able to change the tide of war."

My eyes widen in alarm at that one word. War is the very reason we are here right now. The Capitol will still be on high alert for any signs of unrest and insubordination. I just really, really hope that President Snow and the rest of the Capitol aren't watching us this instant.

I glare at Haymitch, who looks unperturbed. Maybe this is him punishing me for asking questions.

"You mean in this case, a pawn like you can change the tide of the Games you get reaped in," I add quickly, hoping to translate that extremely dangerous sentence into something less harmful. The Capitol has never been a bright bunch. Dumb people they are.

"Yeah sure," Haymitch allows.

Sighing with relief, I glare at him again. "Okay, no more questions," I say, and then whisper so only he can hear, "So no more suicidal statements that will get us killed, okay?"

At these words, he gives a genuine laugh.

"Donner," Haymitch says, "we're already sent here to get killed. Might as well have some fun." He flashes a devilish grin.

At that moment I seriously question whether or not it was ever a good idea to accept him as an ally.

Now thanks to Haymitch, my guards are completely up should the Gamemakers decide to retaliate or punish him. Because you can bet that if they decide to do anything to Haymitch, as his ally, I will be affected too.

Soon, after constantly being on the alert, I practically forget the meaning of relaxation. The toll it takes on my body is nothing compared to the mental damage it does on me. My stress level is at an all time high.

Vaguely I am aware that I dealt with the news of becoming a tribute a lot better than I currently am dealing with this situation.

In complete contrast, Haymitch carries on normally as though he didn't just doom us both.

I can't go on much further constantly looking over my shoulders, both literally and figuratively. Briefly I consider breaking the alliance now while I'm still safe and more or less uninjured, and am therefore perfectly capable of fending for myself. I quickly discard the idea. The safest place for me is with Haymitch. He may have gotten us into deep waters, but I simply feel safer knowing he has my back.

As the hours go by without incident, I begin to think that maybe I've been thinking too much into this. Maybe no one even heard our conversation.

To distract myself somewhat, I take out my blowgun and examine it once we stop for a rest. The blowgun is essentially a small hollow tube. One end is made of rubber and is obviously where the mouth goes. There's a rubber handle grip and just above that is an open chamber where the two dozen darts were originally. Counting the darts, I confirm that there are now only twenty. I remember losing one to the boy from 9, one to the Careers from 1, and two during the confrontation with the two from 1. There was no time to search for the darts, with the cabin catching fire much too quickly. That accounts for the four I'm missing right now.

Deciding that the possibility of the poisons on the dart wearing off is too high to risk ignoring, I pick a fruit off a tree and begin dipping my darts into it.

We rest for a few more minutes, in which time I gently rub my sore legs, before it is time to go again.

Haymitch maintains the same direction, which leads us further into the woods. I'm tempted to ask him where he plans on going exactly but think better of it. He'll probably just ignore my question anyway.

No point wasting energy and strength asking something that won't get answer.

It's the early afternoon when we agree to stop for a lunchbreak. As usual, we split a District 12 biscuit. Then I allow myself a few small bites of the raccoon.

From my knowledge on woodland creatures, raccoons aren't meant to be able to shoot balls of fire from their mouths. Therefore, with great certainty I deem the raccoon a Capitol mutt; a mutt being the shortened term for muttation. The Capitol experimented on and created many a new animal during the Dark Days. Even today, for the sake of the Games they continue this heinous act, or at least include existing ones in as an added form of entertainment. Haymitch called the squirrels and dragonflies mutts. It wouldn't come as a big surprise if every animal here was a mutt too.

As we rest, I notice some plants growing on a vine. Looking at it, I recognise them to be poison ivy. Ignoring it, I sit and wait for Haymitch to say that it's time to move on. He does so without failure.

We march through the seemingly endless arena in silence. That is, until a flock of pink birds fly into view. They are unlike anything I have seen before, with their long, thin beaks.

Not willing to trust any living thing in the arena anymore, apart from Haymitch of course, I ask him whether he thinks we should hide. Maybe because of the great number making up the flock, or because it's still uncertain what they are capable of, Haymitch decides it best to hide.

Silently, we hide in the recess created in a huge boulder.

It's a bit of a tight squeeze, but being the naturally small person I am, it's not all that unbearable. Haymitch, on the other hand, is sure to be somewhat uncomfortable. I can't see him but considering his stature, it's not all that hard to imagine.

We stay completely silent, barely willing to risk breathing. The birds, for their part, land not five feet away from where Haymitch and I are hiding. They remain there, tweeting and singing amongst themselves, for the next ten minutes. Consequently, we are forced to remain as we are for the duration of that time.

It's not until I hear the sound of flapping wings that I feel safe enough to open my eyes. Pushing my forehead off the wall where it had been resting, I look at Haymitch.

Our faces are really close there isn't enough room left for me to move my head back any further. Almost nose to nose, I stare, entranced, into Haymitch's stormy grey eyes, which are staring up into mine. I stay like that until I realise I've been staring for too long. Quickly looking down, I take in our current position which I didn't really give much thought to. Until now.

Haymitch has his head against the rock, his legs bent at the knee and resting on the opposite wall. His arms outstretched behind him, supporting him in place.

I have my head against the opposite wall, facing Haymitch. My legs are on either side of him, virtually straddling him at the hips. My hands, for some reason or another, are clutching onto his shoulders.

Absentmindedly I remember struggling to get over Haymitch in my dash to get away from the opening in the rock, and, as a result, away from the birds. Only to be forced to stay still when I heard them land.

"Sorry!" I apologise earnestly before hastily crawling out of the rock, perfectly aware of the fact that my cheeks are burning hot.

Once I'm completely out in the open, I stand up and brush the imaginary dirt off myself. Haymitch comes out then, bringing with him our two bags which we had ditched in there first.

"Here," is all he says, holding out my bag. I take it with a mutter of thanks.

We carry on trudging through the woods. Again, there isn't much to hear. Just the comforting sounds of nature. It's comforting because I could almost fool myself into thinking I'm just outside with Meredith, playing in our backyard, if I just closed my eyes. The sounds which can be heard here is very similar to that of which can often be heard back home in Twelve.

It's been a long day of walking. I look up and note that it must be close to early dusk now. That means there is still several more hours of this until we can finally rest for the night.

Making the most of the fresh air, and trying to convince myself that this is good exercise, I get out my water bottle and have some water. As I'm putting it away again, I hear a noise up ahead.

"Did you hear that?" I whisper, suddenly tense and overcome with a bad feeling.

"It's probably nothing," Haymitch dismisses.

I scowl slightly. "You could have a little more concern for your own safety."

Keeping a lookout for any movement I hesitantly follow closely behind Haymitch.

We make a turn left and suddenly come to a stop. For standing there in front of us, evidently coming from the other direction, are the remaining boy tribute from 6 and his ally from 8.


	21. Part III

Part III

The Denouement

 **Author's note: Two-thirds of the way done. Congratulations on making it this far and thanks again for your support!**


	22. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

We remain where we are, sizing up the other two.

The boy from 6 is holding his war hammer over his shoulder. His backpack slung over the other. His companion wears her pack over both shoulders. She doesn't hold anything in her hands, but I notice that she's slowly reaching for the sickle at her side.

"Well this one's a looker," says the boy, nodding at me. He leers and actually licks his lips. I suddenly feel uneasy.

"Why have you been keeping her all to yourself, Twelve?" he continues, clearly talking to Haymitch. This causes his partner to laugh. It's not a particularly pleasing sound.

"He's not half bad himself," she comments. Haymitch and I continue to stare at them in silence.

"Oh, don't be like that, baby," the boy from 6 says. "What do you say to ditching that lame ally of yours and coming with me?"

He looks at me, waiting for a reply. I don't give one.

"Unlike him, I bet I can show you a _really_ good time," the boy persists, glancing me up and down perversely. He's practically undressing me with his eyes, the sleazebag!

"What about you, darling?" the girl asks Haymitch. "Lose the tramp. I'll do things you wouldn't even believe." She winks seductively at him.

I frown at being called a tramp. Taking a step forward, I glare at her. "Back off."

Suddenly, and without any warning, the boy charges forward. He screams and raises the hammer over his head. He charges towards me.

I draw into my bag for my blowgun, that weapon being able to effectively work over a long distance. I'm too slow, though. The war hammer would've hit me square on the head, crushing my brain, had Haymitch not tackled him to the side. I see the war hammer fly out of his hands. The two begin fighting.

Finally holding the blowgun, I look up to where 8 is standing. She's gone. Only her pack is on the ground, evidence that she was there at all.

I look around frantically for her, not wanting a surprise attack. Hearing a noise in the tree, I look towards it in time to see the girl from 8 jumping down. She's brandishing her sickle, thrashing it about like a madman. I would have laughed at the mere sight of it, had the situation not been so dire.

Quickly raising my blowgun, I aim it at her. The dart would've hit her in the neck had she not knocked it away with her sickle. She aims the sickle downwards on me. I have just enough time to deflect the attack with my blowgun. She knocks the gun out of my hands. Now without that weapon, I back up against the tree. She follows; a manic look on her face.

 _And I thought the Careers were insane. These two are exactly like them._

She sees the look of fear in my eyes and laughs hysterically. When she reaches me, she places the sickle against my exposed throat.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you," she says sweetly. "You District 12s are nothing. Just like that little girl. Even with the two from 11 with her, she still died easily."

My head swims as I take in what she's saying. Then I'm furious.

I stamp my heel onto her foot. Then I knee her between the lungs. She screams as I do a quick spin, getting around her. I kick her in the back before she can turn. The sickle falls to the ground even as she's still falling. I kick it into the bushes where she can't see it.

Now weaponless, she gets up and turns to me, fuming with pure rage. I look around for my blowgun even as she's charging at me, assuming, like her, that I don't have another weapon.

I pull out my knife and throw it at her. It buries itself in her shoulder. It would've hit her heart but she dodged it in time. Amazingly, she's still running as though a knife isn't protruding from her shoulder. Looking around, I resume my search for that blowgun. I finally find it several feet behind me. Turning on my heels, I run for it. As I get close enough, I go into a dive. As I slide on my stomach, I quickly grab the gun. When I stop sliding, I turn over, still on the ground, and fire another dart at her.

This one hits the mark. The mark being her neck.

She suddenly comes to a halt. Then she's falling to her knees and hacking up blood. After half a minute of this nonstop coughing, she falls to the ground, dead. A cannon goes off right on time.

My blood still pumping with adrenaline, I look to where the fight between the other two is still going.

The boy from 6 has Haymitch pinned to the ground. In his hand a small cutting knife.

Haymitch is struggling beneath him, his knife nowhere to be seen.

Judging from the cuts on his cheeks and arms, the boy from 6 has been playing with him, teasingly giving Haymitch little cuts.

Suddenly bored, he holds the knife in two hands and starts making stabbing motions, aiming at Haymitch, who avoids the attacks as best he can while being pinned down.

I've been holding up my blowgun but District 6 is moving around too much now, and I don't want to risk hitting Haymitch. Frantically I run to the dead body of the girl from 8 and pull out my knife from her shoulder.

In the time I went to retrieve my knife, Haymitch managed to get the other tribute off of him and knocked away his knife. Now Haymitch is the one pinning down 6.

He gets in a few good punches, but without a weapon isn't able to end this fight.

"Haymitch!" I yell, tossing over my knife by their feet so that only he can reach it.

Haymitch manages to grab my knife and, with a few quick moves, finish off the boy. Another cannon sounds.

Haymitch gets up and hands the knife back to me. "Thanks."

"Let's get out of here before other tributes start showing up," I say, cleaning my knife on my shirt and putting it back in its sheath.

Quickly we rummage through the packs of the now dead tributes.

Together they had two respirators, two goggles, a vinyl sheet, a funnel, one completely empty water bottle, several juice boxes, four mint cookies, and two packets of potato chips.

We easily divide the juice boxes, mint cookies, potato chips, respirators, and goggles between the two of us.

"This'll come in handy if another eruption occurs," Haymitch says, handing me a respirator and goggle. Briefly I wonder if that is how they had survived the volcano.

Seeing as I have two water bottles, I tell Haymitch to keep the empty one. That way we both end up with two bottles each. I keep the funnel and he keeps the vinyl sheet.

As I inspect the body of the girl, I realise she wasn't completely weaponless after all. She has a leather sheath strapped to her right thigh. Inside is a hunting knife. Thinking that it might be useful, I take it.

Lastly, Haymitch retrieves his weapon. He finds his knife buried in a tree. I decide to just leave the darts where they are. I still have eighteen left, after all.

"You should put some Capitol cream on those scratches," I advice as we're moving on.

His cheek drips blood from the places where he got cut. As do his arms. His right knuckle is also bloody and split from where he punched.

"Let them heal on their own," Haymitch brushes it off.

Rolling my eyes, I let it go.

As we are walking, I notice that Haymitch seems to have trouble walking properly. His breathing sounds a bit laboured too.

Thinking that it will eventually pass, I let it go without comment.

After some long hours have passed and there is no improvement whatsoever, I decide to finally say something to him.

"Haymitch, maybe you should rest," I suggest.

"Can't stop," he says, sounding feverish. "Not yet."

"Why? There's clearly something wrong with you."

He ignores me and keeps persisting on.

"Fine!" I snap like some rabid animal. "If you don't care about your own health, why should-"

Haymitch suddenly collapses to the ground. Immediately, I knee by him, shaking him by the shoulders.

"Haymitch, can you hear me? Haymitch! Say something," I demand.

His eyes are closed and his breathing short rapid breathes. I feel his forehead. It's burning up quickly. Alarmed, I begin searching for a place we can use for shelter. Miraculously there's a formation of massive boulders. Pushing one of the smaller ones out of the way, I peek in and amazed by the sheer size.

There is more than enough room for two people to stay in comfortably.

Next, I laboriously drag an unconscious Haymitch to the newly discovered shelter. By the time we're there, I'm sweating bullets and huffing like I've just run a marathon. I drink a mouthful of water. Then I lift Haymitch's head, which had been resting on his pack, and pour some water between his lips. Lastly, I rip and wet some paper from the roll before pressing it on Haymitch's forehead and wondering what to do next.

I finally decide to examine his body for bites or any other signs that might give an explanation as to what caused him to become so ill. It doesn't take long. The recent cut marks on his cheeks is an angry purple. It looks infected. Nothing like I've ever seen before.

Checking where he was cut on the arms, I see that they display the same symptoms as those on his cheeks. The symptoms for what, though, I cannot say.

Hoping it would help, I clean the cuts and dig around in his bag for the cream he has. I apply them onto his cuts, careful not to miss any.

Sitting back, I anxiously wait to see if the cuts and wound will clear up.

It doesn't.

 _Maybe it just needs more time._

So for the next three hours, I carefully monitor Haymitch, who still hasn't woken up yet. Amazingly, I begin to see the wounds heal around the two hour mark. With renewed vigour, I replace the crude towel on his forehead with a new one. I also use this time to attend to Haymitch's right knuckle.

First, I clean it up before applying some cream. Then I carefully wrap the knuckle up in some improvised bandages of toilet roll paper.

I look out at the opening of the rocks and see that it is night out.

Deciding that staying here is a must until Haymitch recovers, I go back outside.

My next move is to find something to cover the opening of the cave that the rocks create. There are several fallen branches still with plenty of leaves on them. I pick the thickest one and cover the entrance after crawling back inside.

Feeling hungry and deciding to pass the time waiting for Haymitch to recover by eating, I help myself to some more raccoon.

The meat's cold, but that doesn't bother me.

Then I eat half a drop biscuit, putting the other half to the side for Haymitch.

The anthem plays loudly, and I poke my head out to watch the death recap, despite knowing who I will see in the sky tonight.

First is the boy from 6. His face is soon followed by that of the girl from 8.

She brings my total kill count to four.

Now Districts 6 and 8 are both out of the running.

Doing some thinking, I conclude that there is still Ruby, a tribute from 3, both brothers from 7, and of course Haymitch and me.

That means there are six of us left.

When first reaped, I never thought that I would ever make it so far. Nor did I ever imagine forming an alliance with anyone.

I look over at Haymitch, wondering how much longer this alliance will last.

He coughs, raising my hopes that he has finally woken up. Quickly he has me by his side.

"Haymitch," I whisper, "are you awake?"

No reply.

Sighing, I anxiously wonder why he hasn't woken up yet. All his cuts have been tended to.

Resting my hand in front of me, I'm surprised when it accidently lands on Haymitch.

I'm surprised, not because of the contact, but because of how distinctly wet his shirt feels.

Puzzled, I grab out the torch that managed to survive the cabin fire and switch it on.

I flash it downwards, looking at his shirt. From what I can see, nothing is wrong and there shouldn't be a reason it is wet. But then my nose takes in a dull metallic smell. It is a smell I immediately associate with blood.

Slowly, as if to prepare myself, I lift up his shirt.

On his side and abdomen are several long cuts. The blood has spread so much I can't even properly see the skin beneath all that blood.

I quickly set to work cleaning Haymitch up.

Once done, and I get a look at what I'm dealing with, I inhale air sharply through clenched teeth.

The wounds themselves, small as they are, have been closed with dried blood. But that's not the problem.

Underneath the skin around the wound, I can clearly see something like blue ink spreading across in all different directions.

I go into a panic as my immediate thought is poison. That boy from District 6 must've done something to that knife he used on Haymitch. I can only conclude that, like me, he intentionally poisoned his weapon to make it that much more lethal.

This information would be great... if I had the means of actually treating this poison.

Finding a plant or two that may help with poisons is out of the question, considering how everything in this arena is poisoned. None of the packs we have come across has an antidote either.

Briefly I wonder how long Haymitch has left if left untreated. Ignoring that morbid thought, the most I can do is tend to the cuts. And I do. Much like how I've been treating the ones on his cheeks and arms.

I completely clean away the dried blood, causing a fresh batch to flow out. Staunching the blood, I'm hopeful enough to wonder if the poison may just flow out along with it.

As the blood flow dwindles to a trickle, I try applying some cream. After I glance at it, my stomach drops. The thin blue webs of poison are still there. Sighing in resignation, I pull his shirt back down. Then I rest, leaning against the wall, having done all I can.

As I contemplate on what to do, my mind comes up completely blank.

The sound of approaching footsteps reaches my ears. Hastily I turn off the torch, which had been on and turned towards the back of the shelter. Then I strain my eyes to see through the leaves blocking the entrance.

Outside is dark, illuminated somewhat only by the waning moon. I do, however, make out two dark contours when they walk into view. As they get closer, my hand clenches around my knife.

"Not there," says a voice, "I know somewhere much better where we can stay."

"Okay," agrees a second one.

I can't see them properly, but I can almost recognise those voices as belonging to the two from District 7.

Much to my relief, they turn and are soon out of view again.

Releasing the grip on my knife, I let out a breath I wasn't aware I was holding.

It is then that I decide to leave the torch off for now. I also decide to stay up for as long as possible least we have more potentially unwanted guests, be them human or animals.

Haymitch gives another raspy cough, and I'm soon pouring more water pass his lips. Taking this time to replace that wet paper on his forehead, I do that too.

Afterwards, I resume my place protecting the entrance to this place. I place my backpack next to me and take out a water bottle whenever I'm tired or thirsty.

The night gets later and Haymitch's condition not any better. On the contrary, he might actually be getting worse at a faster pace now.

As I sit, reflecting on my current situation, I can only conclude that it looks grim.

If there hadn't been any deaths recently, and Gamemakers wanted to lure us out, I can only imagine what would happen.

Claudius Templesmith would invite us through the speakers placed throughout the arena to a feast. Those starving would be desperate enough to accept the invitation. They would go and risk their lives for food. That would serve as more than enough entertainment of the audience.

But that's not going to happen.

Haymitch and I should have provided them with plenty of entertainment during our fight with the two tributes from 6 and 8.

Now the Capitol can watch the direct result of that battle as Haymitch lies dying, his body slowly overridden by and succumbing to poison.

They'll get a real kick out of watching as I sit, completely helpless to save an ally.

My distress is surely their source of joy.

As I sit in a right foul mood, I almost miss the sound of something landing on the ground right outside. Cautiously, I push aside the branch and step out. Looking around I don't see anything out of the ordinary. That is until I actually look down.

For there, just by my shoes, is a parachute that could have only come from Konrad.


	23. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The first thing I actually do is look at the tops of the rocks, making sure no one is there.

For all I know, they might be trying to pull the same thing we are with the nightlock.

But no one's there.

Still not entirely convinced, I scope the area for recent signs of life.

There doesn't appear to be any. Apart from the two from earlier tonight.

Finally convinced that this parachute is the real deal, I bring it into the shelter and cover up the entrance again. I then turn the torch back on. Then, holding the torch in my mouth, I proceed to open up the contents brought about by the parachute.

I find a needle with a pink liquid in it. With trepidation, I lift up the syringe to inspect critically. There is only one thing that it could possibly be. And one person it could possibly be for.

Relief flows through me and a massive weight is lifted off my chest.

Quickly digging out the square piece of antiseptic cloth the needle comes with, I rush over to Haymitch.

I take his arm and hold it out before wiping the inner elbow with the antiseptic. Then I begin searching for a vein. Obviously I haven't ever done this myself. But I've seen Jasmine do it often enough that I'm confident enough to be willing to give it a try.

Finally finding what I think is a vein, I inject the needle into his arm and plunge the pink liquid through.

Once it has all been injected into Haymitch, I pull out the needle and replace it back in the small black box it came from.

I lean back against the wall, both mentally and physically exhausted from the day's events, but relieved beyond words for the parachute.

Leaving Haymitch to rest, I wait, knowing that it will take a little while for the medicine to take effect. Maybe even hours.

As I'm resting with my eyes closed, I am suddenly struck with another idea. The idea is so unexpected that when it comes I sit up forward quickly, flashing my eyes open.

Quietly I head back outside. I go to the nearest bush bearing fruit and pick one.

Back inside, by the light of the torch, I see I'd picked some blackberries. I open the small black box the needle came from and take out the syringe. Then I plunge the needle into the berries. Slowly, I pull the end of the hypodermic needle. Sure enough the juice of the blackberry is extracted. Once completely filled, I put the needle away.

The idea behind this elaborate plan is to trick the tribute that comes across this into thinking that what they're holding is medicine or an antidote of some kind. So, when they decide to use it, they'll effectively inject themselves with poison. Just one less tribute to deal with.

Unable to sit idly for long, I replace the cloth on Haymitch's forehead and pour some more water between his unmoving lips.

I then go back to sitting, drawing my knees up to my chest and resting my forehead on my knees.

The faces of my family appear behind my closed eyelids and it's taking all my self-control not to cry. It won't do to be homesick. Not when there are much more pressing matters at hand.

I check back on Haymitch every now and then, but it looks as though it'll take more time for the medicine to take effect than I thought.

As night drags on slowly, it brings with it a bitter cold. I put on my jacket before taking out Haymitch's and putting it over him.

That should keep him warm.

I drink more water to keep myself awake and fully alert. Bunching up my hair into my hands I realise that I don't have a hair tie anymore. Deciding that it would only get in the way, and potentially get me killed, I draw out my knife and cut it. My cut hair falls limply into my hands. Now my hair is shoulder-length. Remembering how my mother used to do it, I attempt to fix up the ends, making it look naturally grown out.

I look down at my hair, trying to decide whether it can be of any use.

It won't be able to hold anything together, being so soft that it'll untie itself the moment it's let go of. I even try braiding it before giving up when I can't find a way of holding the ends together.

Eventually I decide that it serves no purpose and to just discard of it.

I get up and replace the cloth cooling Haymitch's forehead again. As I pour water into his mouth, I am reminded of how Meredith got sick.

We couldn't have been more than seven. Meredith had contracted a rather nasty flu. An outbreak of sorts had been spreading through the Seam. Meredith must've caught it from those at school. The epidemic was serious, with many losing their lives to it, not being able to afford the proper treatment. Fortunately we could. Meredith was still bedridden for the better part of a week, though. Our parents were still worried, seeing her look so frail and thin. She didn't have much of an appetite while she was sick. I remember waking up to her ragged coughs. She would say that she was thirsty and I would get her some water. I'd gently lift her head and help her drink it. After getting up several times in the middle of the night, I finally just decide to climb into bed with her and spend the rest of the night there. Her bed was so warm, with the flu making her core body temperature higher than average. It never even once crossed my naive mind that she might just get me ill too.

It was a stressful time in Twelve back then. With many falling ill, hardly anyone had time to prepare for the Harvest Festival. Only few homes had coloured corn affixed to their front doors. The Harvest Festival is always celebrated on the final day of the Victory Tour, wherein the victor of that year tours around the districts. This is a rarity as travelling to other districts is kept to the bare minimum. Victory Tours always happen a few months after the end of the Games. To allow time for the victor to adjust back into regular life. Anyway, the Harvest Festival usually means a meal with family and a few friends if it can be afforded.

Pulling out of my thoughts, I decide to check the cuts on Haymitch's abdomen. Lifting his shirt up a little, I can see that the blue streaks are still there. They do, however, appear to be not as long as they were.

With a rush for relief washing over me, I pull Haymitch's shirt back down.

I then rest by the entrance of the rocks again.

As time ticks by slowly, I'm wondering how much longer it will be until Haymitch wakes. I run my fingers through my hair and am momentarily shocked to discover how short it has become. Then I remember my spontaneous haircut and almost laugh out loud.

Soon I become too tired to stay awake anymore. So I decide to take a nap.

I lean my head back against the side of the rock and allow myself to give in to sleep.

In my dreams, I'm lying on the small steel table back in the Remake Centre. Turning my head to the side, I see many tools scattered about on a tray placed on the table beside my bed.

The tools themselves look as though they are implements of torture, like they can inflict loads of pain. I remember seeing these tools for the first time and thinking the same thing then.

President Snow suddenly and unexpectedly enters the room. He makes his way over to the tray of tools and gently caresses them. Eventually he picks one up. As he holds it, I see that it's a pair of scissors for cutting hair with. But judging by the way he looks at me, my hair isn't his intended objective.

"Now, Miss Donner," he says placidly, "this won't hurt one bit."

As he turns towards me, I struggle to get up. I look down and see that I've been strapped to the bed, my wrists and ankles tightly bound to it. There is even a strap keeping my forehead in place.

Snow then raises the scissors. He stabs the scissors into my exposed neck. Immediately blood is gushing everywhere. I try to scream but am choking on blood. Snow continues stabbing me mercilessly.

I wake with a start.

My foggy brain causes me to place a hand over my throat, checking for any puncture wounds. There isn't any.

Sighing with relief and disbelief at the dream, I resolve not to sleep any time soon. That type of strange dreams is something I can definitely live without.

I sit back and monitor him from afar.

As I continue monitoring Haymitch, a rustling sound suddenly catches my attention. Quickly I turn off the torch and remain absolutely still. As the noises get closer and closer, I risk peeking outside.

The scene outside is much like that before, with the woods illuminated by a bright moon. It still takes a while for my eyes to adjust properly. Once it does, I see a looming, hulking figure that I instantly know belongs to Ruby. She's so close that I don't want to risk making any noise by getting out my blowgun.

Seeing this as an opportunity to rid the competition of her, though, I slowly unsheathe my knife.

I am just about to make a surprise attack on her when something Konrad told us on the train ride to the Capitol reappears in my memory.

We had just finished with introductions and are still eating when Konrad opens his mouth to speak once more.

"To be perfectly clear, your first priority is not to kill. It is to survive. Only fight with other tributes when you absolutely must."

"What if we are certain they don't know we're there and can therefore pull off an ambush?" Adam asked.

"If you are one hundred per cent sure of your victory against them, I say go for it," Konrad had answered.

Now, staring into the dark at Ruby, I ponder whether I have what it takes to take her down.

With a resigned sigh, I put away my knife, deciding it is not worth the risk.

Soon she is out of sight again.

I give it a little more time before turning the torch back on, just in case Rudy isn't as far away from here as I originally thought.

Haymitch remains where he is, seemingly asleep. As I continue keeping an eye on him, I marvel at the fact that we're made it as far as we did. Considering that neither one of us ever had any proper combative training until the scant few days before the actual Games, it is quite the achievement.

Then I'm suddenly thinking of our conversation from earlier today.

As we continued to gather up sticks, Haymitch for once initiates the conversation.

"Tell me," he beings, "what was the point in learning snares if you couldn't learn to properly cook the animal you captured it with?"

"How did-"

"You're not the only one that observed the competition," he replied simply.

I hesitated a moment.

"The snares weren't intended for animals," I admitted ominously.

"Ah," was his reply.

We continued to gather the rest of the kindling sticks in silence.

Haymitch fidgets a little and I'm there. I first continue cooling his forehead with a new cloth before giving him several mouthfuls of water.

The night continues on without much improvement on Haymitch's condition.

I sit, nervously wondering if I'd been too late in administering the antidote and if there is anything else I can possibly do to speed up his recovery.

Unable to come up with anything useful, I continue to apprehensively wait and hope for the best, feeling useless again.

It isn't long before my impatient and hyperfocused nature reappears. I drink some water in an attempt to calm my mind. Briefly I consider taking another nap before quickly dismissing the idea. Least I should have another bad or bizarre dream.

I decide to direct my whole attention on monitoring Haymitch. This keeps me busy and stops my mind from wandering too far.

Keeping a watchful eye on him, it occurs to me that I can see how he could have a girlfriend. I've seen the two of them around the Hob on the rare occasions Jasmine and I are able to sneak there without anyone noticing. Jasmine would claim that she is just curious, but I know she's secretly hoping to see Tobey. She's very pretty, the girlfriend. From what I can remember. Like most people there she has the typical Seam look about her, with almond-shaped light grey eyes and long wavy dark hair.

Seeing as Twleve only has the one school, I've also seen her around there too.

She and Haymitch sometimes hang out together, just the two of them. But for the most part they keep to the company of their own mates.

They probably didn't want to make a big deal out of their relationship.

Good.

Most of the merchant lot, especially the more well-off girls, feel as though everyone needs to know about their latest relationship.

Frankly, I'm fed up with it.

I recline against the side of the rock, taking in the peaceful sounds of nature at night.

Crickets chirp loudly nearby, an owl hoots from a tree, and somewhere off in the far distance a lone wolf bays at the moon.

The night gets later and later. I soon find myself no longer able to keep myself awake. So with my last ounce of strength, I turn off the torch and close my eyes.

I force myself to wake when it feels as though I've slept enough. At best, I estimate that I was able to sleep for half an hour.

I rub my heavy and drooping eyes with the heel of my palm before turning the torch back on. As soon as the small cave shelter lights up my sensitive eyes react by shielding away from the light.

Once my eyes finally adjust to it, I instantly look towards Haymitch.

He had shifted slightly while I was asleep, causing his jacket to fall a little.

I quickly cover him with it properly again. With the bitter cold seeping into where we are the last thing I need is for Haymitch to catch a cold.

Once that is done, I anxiously shuffle about on the spot.

 _Why hasn't he regained consciousness yet?_

Peeking through the thick leaves on the branch covering the entrance I see that the world is washed in a deep blue rather than pitch black.

Dawn approaches within two hours, I estimate.

With great wonder I realise that I've been awake for a good portion of the night. It is following this realisation that I am suddenly overwhelmed with an extremely great surge of weariness.

Against my better judgement I step outside for some fresh air. Leaving the torch beside Haymitch, I push aside the branch obscuring the entrance.

Once outside, I take a deep breath. My head is still clearing of the fogginess of sleep as I slowly take in my immediate surrounds.

The dark trees loom ominously against the even darker backdrop of the woods. The moon is no longer visible, seeing that it is now in the west. To the east is the tiniest hint of light.

I breathe through my nose and out my mouth.

As I breathe out, my breath appears before me as a cloud of mist, evidence of just how cold it is outside in the open woods.

Soon I head back inside.

I cover up the entrance and retrieve the torch. As I pick the torch up, I notice movement in the corner of my peripheral vision.

I look up in time to see Haymitch open his eyes.

"Hey," he rasps upon seeing me.


	24. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

I stare, stunned, in mute silence as he tentatively sits up.

"You cut your hair," he states, bringing me back from my shock.

And that's all it takes.

A massive rush of relief overcomes me as I lunge at him, his name on my lips.

"You're okay," I mumble, my arms around his neck and my face in his shoulder.

"What happened?" he asks.

I let go of Haymitch and sit down in front of him, my legs tucked beneath me.

"You were poisoned."

Haymitch thinks this over a minute. "By that kid from 6," he concludes.

I nod in affirmation. "He must've poisoned the edge of his knife and infected you that way."

"Then how am I still alive?" asks Haymitch, his brow knit in a slight frown.

"Because of this," I say with a small grin, getting out the needle.

Haymitch takes the syringe and examines it minutely.

"Where did you get this?" he eventually asks.

"From Konrad," I answer.

Haymitch gives me a disbelieving look.

I laugh. "Don't look so surprised to find that you've got sponsors."

"Of course," I continue, "that's not the cure. The real antidote was a bubbly pink colour."

"So what's this?"

"Poison."

Haymitch looks at the discarded blackberries, and, putting two and two together, nods.

He hands me back the hypodermic needle, which I put away.

"This way, we might be able to fool some tribute into thinking that this is medicine," I comment with a shrug.

Haymitch nods again, an impressed look on his face.

There is a brief silence before he asks, "How long was I out for?"

"Just one night," I reply.

He looks around us. "And where are we?"

"In a small cave created by some large rocks," I answer, yawning into the back of my hand.

My eyelids become heavy so I blink rapidly to keep them from drooping closed.

"Did you get any sleep at all?" Haymitch asks worriedly.

I nod tiredly. "A bit," I say.

"Get some more," he tells me. "There's still," he peeks through the gaps in the branches, "one and a half hours or so before sunrise. When he sees my hesitation, Haymitch continues. "It'll be fine."

He absently picks out something caught in my hair.

Eventually I nod. Satisfied, Haymitch moves to sit near the entrance of the cave. I lie my head down on my backpack before closing my eyes.

I wake to bright light shining on my closed eyelids. Blinking several times, I sit up groggily.

The cave is illuminated by sunlight poking its way through the gaps in the leaves.

The peaceful silence of the cave is suddenly broken by the sound of Haymitch's stomach growling. I quickly stifle a giggle.

"There's half a drop biscuit with your name on it," I tell him.

He turns to me, clearly surprised to find me awake. Giving me a quick smile and nod of thanks, he rummages eagerly for it. I pull open my own bag, deciding now is a good time as any to have breakfast.

I quickly get through half a mint cookie and the packet of potato chips before deciding it best to carefully conserve the remaining scraps of food left. There's no telling how long we have to make it last for.

"How much water do you have left?" Haymitch asks, taking a swig from the last remaining bottle of orange juice.

I check my supplies.

"Just two small bottles and one half of a 600ml bottle."

I had completely spent the full 600ml bottle on myself and Haymitch the previous night.

We can only hope the Gamemakers will see fit to provide us with more water soon.

"Okay," he eventually says, packing up his things. "Let's go."

This surprises me. "Don't you want to rest a little more? You could still be recovering from the poison," I point out.

Haymitch shakes his head. "We've already wasted enough time. We have to keep going."

"Why?" I ask, forgetting that he isn't likely to answer.

And he doesn't. He just pushes away the branch at the mouth of the cave and crawls out.

Rolling my eyes, I follow suit.

Once we're outside, I stretch my legs and bask in the warm early light.

We stand there a moment, Haymitch gathering his bearings. He soon sees where we fought with the two tributes. It isn't that far from where we are now.

Eventually he decides on a path before moving off without a word. I follow Haymitch, looking back behind longingly at our shelter. It was a great place. Too bad we couldn't stay any longer.

We walk for most of the morning in companionable silence. I follow behind Haymitch with a new spring in my step, realising how close I was to losing him, and therefore decent company, in the Games. Without Haymitch here to ground me, and the knowledge that my family is watching my every peril as they come, I would have surely lost my mind ages ago.

The woods continue to stretch onwards. Even as we trudge on determinedly, I begin to wonder how much distance we have traversed and whether or not the woods will just go on forever despite it.

Haymitch is determined to go on. Even being at death's door only hours ago doesn't deter him in the least. He presses on, waiting whenever I fall behind.

As we walk through morning to early afternoon, I begin falling behind again while following Haymitch, who manoeuvres his way through thick trees with cat-like grace.

I'm still determined to keep up with him but my lack of sleep the previous night catches up with me, making me more tired than I should be.

Eventually, I start asking for breaks again, much to my own annoyance.

At first we take them. But as they become less frequent I begin to get annoyed. Not because we don't rest, but because Haymitch still refuses to tell me why we cannot stop or why we must keep going.

Finally fed up with the silence, I lean back against a tree. It takes Haymitch all of three seconds to realise that I'm not following him.

"We have to keep moving. Can't stop," he says, stoping only to wait for me to catch up.

"Why?" I challenge with a shrug, asking the same thing for about the hundredth time today.

Haymitch just rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He takes several steps, assuming I will follow him. _That arrogance will only get you so far, Abernathy._

"I'm not going any further without an answer," I call out, making him stop. Truthfully I'm a little surprised at that. "So why?"

"Because it has to end somewhere, right?" Haymitch states, walking right up to me. "The arena can't go on forever."

"What do you expect to find?" I ask.

"I don't know," he admits, turning and walking away, expecting this to be enough of an explanation for me to follow him. "But maybe there's something we can use."

Finally deciding that that is the best I can expect from talkative Haymitch, I hurry to catch up with him. It doesn't take long, as I realise he had been walking deliberately slowly, knowing somehow that I will eventually follow him again.

As we continue to plod on, I think about his words.

Honestly, it never occurred to me that the arena _does_ have to end somewhere. Maybe because of all those years watching the Hunger Games, no tribute has ever considered the idea themselves. No tribute had ever tried to see what lies at the end of the arena. Knowing Haymitch, this mystery must have eaten away at him from a very young age. That just shows how inquisitive and bright he can be... at times. Being in the arena, now he has the chance of finding out for himself.

And then I'm thinking about the fact that he said something _we_ could use.

How much longer until this alliance inevitably ends? _How_ will this alliance end? Because, surely, if it were up to me, I know that I would never be able to kill Haymitch. Honestly, I don't think he could kill me either. Not after everything we've been through in the Games. But that could just be wishful thinking. Suddenly I am sure it will be up to me to end this alliance. Reluctantly, I resolve to break it off when there are only five of us left.

That means after the next death, assuming that it is neither Haymitch nor I who dies.

 _Or_ , I decide with a hint of glee, _I'll break it off when we discover what is at the end of the arena._ That could be a _very_ long time. Also, I am curious as to what the end of the arena holds.

It is late morning, as we are still walking on through the woods, when we hear the faint but distinct sound of a cannon fire.

We freeze for a moment, despite the fact that the sound came from a far distance. We freeze because of the obvious implication.

There are only five of us left. We are only three tributes away from becoming the final two.

Okay, I decide quickly, I'll definitely break off our alliance once we've seen exactly what it is that lies at the end of the arena.

"We should go," Haymitch says, seemingly unfazed by the cannon. He continues trudging on, with me quickly following behind him.

 _Bonds are made to be broken._ The phrase whirls around in my mind as I try my best to ignore it. I know the bond Haymitch and I built on this alliance will indeed need to be broken. That I will be the one to sever our ties tugs insistently at my consciousness. I know it won't make it any easier when that time eventually arrives.

As we continue on, Haymitch stops when he spots a snake.

It's around two feet long and lying motionless. The snake is black with several yellow stripes that stretch the length of its entire body. I recognise it immediately.

"It's an Eastern Ribbon snake," I inform him. "They're non venomous, so don't worry.

The snake lazily lifts its head towards us.

"Donner," Haymitch starts, "when are things in this arena never poisonous?"

I think about this for a moment. "Guess it's better to be safe than sorry."

"The smartest thing you said all day."

So we carefully avoid the watchful snake and continue on our way, me glad he never bought up eating it.

Haymitch leads us on through the forest for about another hour before we rest to eat lunch.

We sit on the ground, our backs against a particularly big tree.

I eat some raccoon meat, saving some for later. Then I finish the other half of the mint cookie.

We rest awhile longer, enjoying the peace and each other's company. From our close proximity I notice Haymitch's musky scent and briefly wonder if I have a smell.

All too soon, Haymitch gets up. He reaches out a hand to me. Surprised, I take it and allow him to pull me up onto my feet.

"Thanks," I say.

He shoulders his pack. "Come on."

We continue walking long into the afternoon, with short breaks here and there.

My legs are beginning to become sore and I'm lost in thought when Haymitch suddenly asks a question.

"So your hair," he beings, "why did you decide to cut it?"

I shrug. "It was getting in the way."

"What happened to your hair tie?"

"Lost somewhere during our escape from the cabin," I wave off. "It most likely got burnt along with everything else still in there."

"Such a waste," he mutters.

"Oh, right," I say, "you never got to take a shower." That is a waste.

The image of Haymitch shirtless comes unbidden. I see his lean but well-muscled torso, his toned and flawless skin. The way his collarbone protrudes in that nice way. He's unquestionably thin, but more on the healthier side.

"Watch out for that butterfly," I warn Haymitch as a blue and yellow thing suddenly comes across our path.

"Your warning would have done a lot more good one week ago."

"You got stung," I state.

"Half a dozen times," he admits

That leaves me surprised beyond words.

"How'd you survive that?" I ask.

"Luck," he replies. "Any more stings and I would've been dead for sure."

Haymitch guides us through the woods in silence after that.

As the day progresses and we persist in the same direction, always away from the Cornucopia and volcano, I take off my jacket. The day gets warmer and as do I, being made to walk far distances.

My mockingjay pin catches the light from the sun. It glints merrily. I smile just looking at it, thinking of District 12 and home.

Now that we've talked, I can understand the logic in the direction in which Haymitch leads us. There is no way we'd risk climbing a potentially still active volcano just to see what is on the other side. Rather, Haymitch wants to keep the distant volcano and Cornucopia behind us. He wants to trek through the woods and see what lies at the other end. As do I.

The afternoon stretches for what feels like an eternity. I do well not to complain though. And now that I've finally gotten some answers, I don't bother asking Haymitch anymore questions.

In fact, come to think about it this is the longest we've gone without saying anything. It's nice as it gives me a chance to just observe the seemingly harmless animals and insects that come across our path.

We do well to completely avoid directly crossing any of their paths.

I see a small flock of canaries, all with an assortment of different coloured feathers. A yellow and white one chiefly catches my eye as it is the exact same colour and shade as Melody.

My father had brought her for Meredith and me as a shared present for our twelfth birthday. Seeing as it was our first year of eligibility for the reaping, he wanted to buy us something that little more special to lift our spirits. It worked for me. I absolutely adored her. Meredith showed little to no interest. Thinking back to it, that is why Melody's pretty much considered mine. I remember all those pleasant afternoons spent teaching her songs. She would learn them extremely quickly and be singing them herself by that same night. The very first song I ever taught her was the valley song.

As dusk approaches, I start to wonder if there even is an end to the woods, let alone the arena. But I do well not to say anything. I know that it does have to end somewhere. It just has to.

I muse over the fact that I'm willing to follow Haymitch on this potentially wild goose chase to the end of the arena and even trust him enough to sleep while he keeps watch. It's amusing considering I was willing to stay up as long as possible simply because at first he couldn't yet be trusted. Now I've learnt that, inexplicably, trusting Haymitch is no harder than instinct.

We don't stop for a break again until it is completely dark out. The gorgeous sun is long gone, replaced instead by a bright moon. Haymitch and I sit on a fallen log, eating some food.

I eat a little more raccoon before finishing off the potato chips. We then split another drop biscuit just as the death recap begins.

Climbing a tree to get the best view of the starry sky, Haymitch and I make it in time to see the face of the younger brother from District 7. His name may have been Axel or something.

"I wonder how he died," I utter softly, watching as his face is replaced by the Capitol seal.

"You and me both," Haymitch adds as the anthem slowly dies out.

We stay in the tree like that, looking up at the night sky for a little while longer. The hovercraft disappears and the sky is back in all its wonder and splendour. It's times like this that I can so easily forget where it is I am or who put me here in the first place or what it is I'm supposed to even do here. I realise the dangers of getting too comfortable anywhere and letting down my guard even for a minute, but that's only to be expected when the arena is designed to look the way it does.

Soon Haymitch is climbing down the tree. I reluctantly follow afterwards.

"I'll take first watch," he offers once my feet are back on the ground.

I nod, grateful as it was partly his fault for my lack of sleep the previous night. Even though it was unintentional on his part.

It goes to show just tired I am when I don't protest even a little. Haymitch must surely notice it as well, but chooses not to comment.

Getting comfortable on the ground, the last thing I think of before falling asleep is how distraught the older brother must be.

It's all the more tragic when you realised that he must've watched his brother die right before his eyes.


	25. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

When I wake, dawn is still several hours away. Sitting up, I see Haymitch pacing in a circle.

Probably to keep himself awake, I figure.

"You can rest now," I say, loud enough for him to hear.

He stops his pacing and looks at me. From the look on his face, Haymitch is about to protest before thinking better of it.

He lays down, head resting on his pack.

Soon I hear even breathing, as I carry on keeping watch. It's an incredibly tedious task, but an important one at that. Where you have a person's life placed in your hand.

Time just seems to move slowly, even with me willing it to go faster. I impatiently wait for the sun to rise, commencing a new day.

There's not much fun in sitting around uselessly.

I stare up at the sky. Despite the fact that the sun will rise soon, the sky doesn't appear to be brightening at all. From what I can see, there is a gloomy grey in the air. Minutes later I distinctively feel a little drop of water land on me. It is quickly followed by more before I realise that it is raining again.

With a grin I look over to Haymitch, expecting him to wake up very soon. Sure enough, he shifts about in his sleep before the rain wakes him.

Haymitch looks to the sky, the corners of his mouth curved upwards in a smile.

"We should collect as much rain as we possibly can," I tell him.

He nods and we both pull out all the bottles we have from in our bags.

I uncap the lids of all the empty orange juice bottles and allow them to be filled with rainwater. Digging into my bag, I find the funnel we recently got and place it into the mouth of a bottle, speeding the process.

Haymitch digs a small hole, much like the last time he did when it rained. This time, he uses the vinyl sheet recently accumulated rather than his jacket to collect the much needed rainwater.

Digging further into my backpack I discover all the way at the bottom the bowl I originally left the Cornucopia with. I laugh, remembering how I had initially overlooked the bowl, not knowing what to do with it. I place it out in the open, allowing it to fill with rain. Once it fills, I eagerly drink it. I leave it to fill up again. Then I offer the full bowl of rainwater to Haymitch.

"Here," I say with a grin.

He grins back before taking it. "Thanks," he says. He drinks it in one mouthful before passing back the now empty bowl.

We then tie a jacket to two trees, again, much like before. I place Haymitch's bottle on the ground where lots of rain falls when the jacket is lifted by a corner. He holds up the jacket.

We are soon alternating between holding up the jacket and drinking from my little bowl.

The rain lasts a long time, more than enough for us to fill every one of our bottles to the brim.

Once I cap off the small orange juice bottles, I pass off half of them to Haymitch.

At first he protests, but I eventually wear him down enough to convince him to take them.

Satisfied, and with all the bottles packed away, we sit down to eat.

The rain stopped around the time we finished salvaging the rainwater. Now the sun shines warmly, drying the world of the recent rain.

We sit on a relatively dry rock and split a drop biscuit. Then I eat a little more raccoon meat, wanting it make it last for longer. Unsurprisingly I still find myself hungry. It's not anything I'm not already used to, having come from District 12.

After the two of us eat as much as we're willing to, we begin moving off again.

As Haymitch directs us forward, I think back to the last couple of days. It is then that I realise that this is the eleventh day. We have officially been in the arena for eleven days now. Eleven days have passed since we first entered the arena.

It feels like it's been months already.

Thanks to the warm sun, soon all traces and evidence of rain seemingly disappears. Even Haymitch and I are dried after a while, from our hair right down to our clothes.

The weather is soon pleasantly nice as we trudge through the arena.

I cautiously remain vigilant of our surroundings. As we pass by animals, I keep a careful eye on them in case they turn out to be dangerous mutts.

Although to my knowledge, most mutts are dangerous.

I soon notice that most of the mutts we pass, however, appear harmless enough, leaving us alone when we leave them alone.

That is, until we come across a wild hog. The thing is alone and so small it may well be considered a pigmy. The pigmy boar is no bigger than the raccoon we took down earlier. I notice that instead of a tusk of ivory the wild hog has one of steel. As it sees us, the tusk actually begins spinning as fast as a tool drill.

 _It's a mutt._

Before I can properly process what it going on, the pigmy hog charges at us. We move out of the way and turn to see the hog as it crashes into a tree. I smile, thinking that its tusk will be lodged into the trunk and impede the mutt. But much to my surprise, it drills right through it. The tree comes crashing down. I watch in pure shock as it turns to us again, squealing in fury. As I'm unsheathing my knife Haymitch is the one with a faster reaction this time. He has his knife out and aims it at the boar. The knife is in the air for a moment before it lands between the eyes of the mutt. The wild pigmy drops dead.

Haymitch is retrieving his knife as I walk up to him and the dead hog.

"Nice throw," I compliment. "So, should we eat it?"

Haymitch inspects the mutt. "I don't see why not."

"Just as well," I comment, "the raccoon meat won't last us much longer."

I watch with great attentiveness as Haymitch works at the wild hog.

"It's a good thing you're so skilled at hunting," I admire.

Haymitch shrugs. "It was either that or watch my family starve."

The knowledge that he would illegally go over the fence, out of the confines of District 12, hangs heavy in the air between us.

"I wish I had even a little of your hunting experience."

"You don't need it," Haymitch states matter-of-factly. "What with you being a merchant's daughter and all.

"Sure," I say, "but then I could've been a lot more use to you than I am right now."

"You could be useful and start a fire," he offers, looking up from the wild boar he just about finished with.

And that is exactly what I do.

Once the meat is cooked, we sit and try it. Wild boar is surprisingly not bad. I may actually prefer it over raccoon. Food is food. In the Hunger Games, one cannot afford to be picky.

I put the rest of my half of the pigmy hog away and drink some water.

Having finished with his own lunch, Haymitch stands up, signally the end of our break.

I get up and follow him. We walk in silence, me in a particularly good mood.

In the past eleven days, I haven't been this full before. I've had plenty of sleep thanks to Haymitch keeping watch. My food and water supply are at an all time high. And, the fact that I made it to the final five is something to be thrilled about.

Coming in here with forty-seven other tributes, never once did I imagine myself being in the top five. I also never imagined I'd have a reliable ally. Now I've achieved both.

Picturesque scenes in the woods pass us by as we trudge along, too focused on our goal of reaching the end of the arena to notice them. Just as well.

Those deceitfully pleasant scenes are probably just ways of getting yourself killed if you smell the fragrance of the exotic flowers that permeates the air too directly, or get too close to the two fox cubs play-fighting with each other, or wade in the secluded pool of stunning spring water.

The morning feels a little long, considering how we had prematurely set off for the day because of the pre-morning rain.

Eventually we take another rest. Although in a good mood, and determined to see the arena through to the end, I am still left weary after a long walk.

Haymitch and I rest at the base of another tree. It's early afternoon as we split another biscuit. Still slightly full from the wild hog, I decide not to eat anything else. Haymitch does likewise. So this rest isn't really about food, seeing as how we had an early lunch. This break is simply for us to recover and enjoy the sunshine.

As I bask in the warm glow of the sun, with my eyes closed, an unexpected weight suddenly drops on my head. I open my eyes and try to turn and see the cause. Only, I find myself unable to properly move my head. From my peripheral vision I am able to see the reason why.

Haymitch has fallen asleep and his head is now resting on top of mine.

My immediate thought is that I should wake him. I reconsider when I'm reminded of how just this morning I noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

Instead, I slowly sit up straighter, not wanting Haymitch to strain his neck too much on account of how short I am in comparison to him. I decide to let him sleep and be on lookout until he wakes.

The better half of an hour goes by before Haymitch finally does.

He sits up and looks about in mild confusion before seeing me.

I grin, unable to resist. "Finally awake, are we, Abernathy?"

This sentence causes a chuckle of amusement. "You should've woken me," Haymitch states on a more serious note.

I shrug. "You look like you needed the rest."

"In any case," he says, getting up before helping me to my feet, "I'm up. We should get going."

We walk on through until late afternoon. The temperature is slowly dropping, corresponding with the current position of the sun.

"Here's a question," I begin thoughtfully, "say you were never reaped this year. Or the year after. What kind of work do you see yourself doing as an adult?"

"A coalminer, most likely," Haymitch replies after some thought. "Or a builder."

Skilled builders are high in demand in District 12. Not only do they build houses, they also fix them too.

"That's a shame. I always thought you'd make the perfect Peacekeeper," I tease.

Haymitch turns to see the expression on my face, to see whether I'm serious or not. I keep a serious face and stare back at him.

We both end up laughing.

"What about you?" Haymitch asks. "What would you have done?"

I shrug. "Teach, maybe." A teacher's salary is pretty decent, so I've been told.

"You aren't going to take over the sweetshop?"

"My parents plan on running that sweetshop themselves, long into their old age. Of course I'd help out whenever I can."

While we continue through the woods, I think of what a teacher earns.

I had asked my music teacher once. She'd said it was enough to survive on. But not nearly enough as what a Peacekeeper gets. Especially the Head Peacekeeper.

Cray, a young man, is our Head Peacekeeper. He got the job four years ago, when his predecessor of twenty-two years retired.

I've heard rumours that he abuses his power. That he actually pays starving young women in the Seam to sleep with him. Those poor women have no other means of finding money or food and are desperate enough to spend the night with him. They sell their bodies for the money he offers them.

You can imagine that Cray isn't too popular among the other residents of District 12.

It's a sad rumour and makes for an even sadder truth. Still, if any good came from it, it's that Cray all but abolished public whippings.

A public whipping was the punishment for minor offences. Where the person was tied to a pole and whipped until their back split open like raw meat. These happened often with the previously strict Head Peacekeeper. Afterwards the whipped people, on the verge of death, were brought to Jasmine and her healer parents.

"Did you ever think about getting married to a merchant and helping him run his family's business?" Haymitch asks unexpectedly.

Ugh. Boys have never particularly been my area. Never mind marrying one. That was always Meredith and Jasmine. They would chat about whom they wanted to marry and who was going to marry who.

"Not really."

Haymitch turns to me, surprised. "Why not?"

"Because I don't know of anyone who would possibly, in their right frame of mind, want to marry me," I reply, shrugging self-consciously.

 _We're still seventeen! Why are we even having this conversation?_

"Oh I could think of one or two," Haymitch says mysteriously.

"Really? Who?" I ask sceptically.

"Sorry, Donner," he replies, "but I'm sworn to secrecy."

"I knew you were lying, Abernathy."

Haymitch shakes his head, grinning. "I swear I'm not."

I shrug. "In any case, hypothetically speaking, if there _is_ a merchant he should be capable of looking after his family business without me."

There's no point asking if he wants to marry. It's clear he'll marry that girlfriend of his. Besides, it'll probably be wise not to ask. With that thought in mind, I continue on in silence. We both do.

Truthfully, I'm surprised Haymitch even showed enough interest in anything to ask a question, much less about my personal life and marriage. Because of all the questions I asked him, I've got a good idea of his life. He, in contrast, hasn't asked me anything unrelated to the Games or survival, from what I can recall. I must be something of an enigma not only to him but the rest of Panem who don't already know me. Now that he took it upon himself to ask, Panem took a little glimpse into my life. I can't say I care for it.

It's a long day of walking. We trudge on determinedly, now that the number of tributes is dwindling. There's no telling how much time we have left.

"Watch the trap," Haymitch warns unexpectedly.

It catches me by surprise so much, I don't react fast enough. I take a step forward and instantly something wraps itself around my left ankle. Before I can so much as look down, I'm suddenly being pulled forwards and upwards. Hanging upside down, I look around frantically. My pack drops to the ground.

"Haymitch! Please help," I hiss urgently, looking for the person who set the trap. Already the blood rushes to my head.

He had already turned around at the sound of me being lifted into the tree and is now gazing up at me. "Okay," he answers, moving towards the trunk of the tree.

Haymitch starts climbing, already making it up the lowest hanging branch before I realise what his plan is.

"No," I stop him. "You do that and I'll just fall, maybe even break my neck."

"Can you reach your knife?" he asks after a minute of thinking. I grasp blindly for it and finally feel the ivory handle.

"Got it," I say, pulling it out.

Haymitch is back on the ground and right beneath where I hang in the tree.

"Good," he encourages. "Now what you're going to do is sit up and cut the rope yourself."

"Easier said than done," I huff, finding it hard to hear anything but the rush of blood in my ears.

But I try, putting all my strength in my lower abdomen as I reach for the rope. I fall short and let myself dangle by my ankle once more.

"Come on, Donner. You can do it."

Trying once more, I swing up even harder. I reach up and finally grab the rope.

"Alright," Haymitch is saying. "Now start cutting it. Don't worry I'm right beneath you.

I drag the knife over the rope. It takes several good cuts but finally it is enough that I release the rope and fall back, sheathing the knife. The rope is thin enough now that soon my weight will be enough to snap it. When that happens, I'm left freefalling and feeling weightless.

Haymitch catches me before I hit the ground. He has one arm under my knee and the other on my back.

"Thanks," I stammer as he's putting me down. Once back on my feet I go and pick up my pack.

"Just be more careful next time," he replies, already walking off.

After a bit of walking we pass by some thick bushes. As we pass them and cross a particularly dense clump of trees, I get the feeling something isn't right.

I look around and strain my eyes. It doesn't take me long to identify the problem.

The place is completely devoid of any noise. Minimal sunlight pierces through the particularly dense canopy above - it doesn't help that it is around dusk now. And, there is the feeling of being watched.

This feeling is completely different to knowing that there are cameras bugged throughout the arena. With the cameras you could almost ignore them, knowing that they might not necessarily be focused on you. No, _this_ feeling is foreboding and makes my hair stand on end.

Haymitch must feel it too.

He slowly unsheathes his knife. I quickly follow suit. We make our way slowly across the field. Suddenly there is a flicker of movement to our left.

A squirrel climbs down a tree. It reaches the ground and sits on its haunches, its eyes trained on me.

Haymitch gives a sharp intake of breath. I follow where his eyes look and see two more squirrels climbing down. Suddenly, squirrels emerge from the bushes to our right and left. Looking up, I see more and more squirrels poke their heads out from the trees they're in.

Soon, we are completely surrounded by the carnivorous mutts.


	26. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Despite the sheer number of squirrels, the small field is completely silent.

They sit motionlessly, staring at us with black eyes. As they continue staring, I notice these eyes change to a blood red colour. White needle-like teeth protrude from their mouths. I immediately understand what Haymitch meant by them having the sharpest teeth of any land animal. Because surely, there is no doubt about it, these are the same squirrels Haymitch and I both encountered on separate occasions. And then once more.

There is no mistaking those golden tinted fur.

I intend to turn my head and ask Haymitch about what we should do.

The moment my head turns in the slightest, the squirrels all move at once.

The ones on the ground rush forward and begin gnawing on our shoes and leg. The squirrels in the trees all jump down at once, falling towards us with their teeth bared.

I react by first shaking off the ones on my legs and feet by kicking the air, putting in as much power as I can muster. The squirrels there are sent flying into the air.

Then I quickly turn my attention to those that jumped down for the trees. I slash my knife at the ones which landed on my head and arms.

Just as I've gotten rid of the ones bitting at my skull and arms, the ones I kicked away come rushing back. I jab my knife downwards at the squirrels that are slowly making their way up my leg and body.

I am aware that they're biting. But because of the rush of adrenaline flowing in me, I only register a light nipping sensation.

Haymitch seems to have some trouble of his own.

If it were even possible, there looks to be about twice the amount of squirrels on him as there are on me. He jumps and slices about, throwing the squirrels off him.

Countless squirrels continue climbing all over me. Overcome by their numbers I take a step back. And another. And another, until my back hits the tree, cushioned by my backpack and the squirrels there. I lean forward before slamming my back against the tree.

The golden squirrels drop down, incapacitated.

I then start stabbing at the squirrels that I find are biting me harder than the others.

Soon, there is a pile of dead squirrels at my feet. But new ones replace the dead just as fast as I'm killing them.

My entire body starts aching, both from exhaustion and the bites it's sustaining from the squirrels. I'm panting and sweating with tiredness. My vision becomes blurry as sweat and blood pours down and into my eyes. My head and heart both pound painfully.

"There are too many of them!" I yell out to Haymitch.

This battle between humans and mutts has been going on for five minutes. But that's five more minutes than I would like to spend with them.

I'm now more exhausted than ever. My arm feels like it is about to fall off and my legs like they will give way any minute.

"We have to run!" I continue yelling, trying to catch a brief glimpse of Haymitch through the blur of golden fur obstructing my vision.

"Okay," I hear him call back, "follow me!"

Getting rid of the squirrels climbing around my head, I see Haymitch do the same.

He quickly looks around for me. Our eyes meet and he gives a reassuring nod. I watch as Haymitch kills several more squirrels before taking off in a sprint. Quickly killing those that get in the way of my running, I hurry after him.

Several squirrels clutch on to me as I run, the more ferocious ones latching on with their teeth. I stab at them and they drop dead. Looking back, I can see a small pack of squirrels chasing us. The pack gets bigger as more and more join them in the pursuit.

I run faster at the sight.

Despite my best efforts, I still struggle to catch up to Haymitch. Cursing my smaller and weaker body, I exert more energy into running.

The golden squirrels don't gain any distance on us, but they do give chase for a lot longer than I would expect for one so small.

I begin to develop a whole new appreciation for the saying of never judging a book by its cover.

We run for a good ten minutes before no sounds are heard behind us. Haymitch glances back to confirm our safety before slowly coming to a stop.

Once I've finally caught up with him, I double over in exhaustion, hands on knees and head bowed.

After a full minute in this position I slowly straighten, a hand at my side to clutch at the stitch there. The world still hasn't seemed to stop tilting around yet.

From the moment we stop until the next sixty seconds, the only sound I hear, apart from the massive pounding of my head and heart, is mine and Haymitch's constant panting.

The moment I've recovered somewhat, I gulp down mouthfuls of refreshing water. Between the drinking and the panting, it is a little difficult getting oxygen into my lungs. But I persist, knowing I need to keep hydrated and make up for the immense amount of water I've lost.

Finally gaining back some ounce of strength, I smile at Haymitch. "We did it," I huff out weakly.

He smirks back. "I'm more surprised you had the strength to keep up with me, Donner."

"Maybe you're just not as fast as you thought, Abernathy," I jest back.

This soon has us laughing a little. It's odd, considering the circumstances.

We eventually decide to rest, ducking into a tree for safety. Haymitch and I continue to drink a lot more water, watching as the day grows later.

I examine my arms and the current state of my clothes.

There are puncture marks and scratches everywhere. Thankfully the wounds have stopped bleeding. My clothes are in tatters. Dozens of claw marks decorate my singlet and leggings. Fortunately my jacket is unscathed. I had left it in my backpack.

With the exception of this morning's rain, today had been relatively warm.

Inspecting my backpack, I see that the squirrels had even got to that. The bag looks like it had been mauled by a dog. I check the contents of my pack and am relieved to find everything relatively unharmed.

Then I inspect the tears in my clothes more thoroughly.

Each tear is at least as long as my pinkie finger. The edges around them are pasted to my skin with my own blood. Despite the blood drawn from the cuts, plenty of skin is clearly visible through the holes.

"How did you survive your first encounter with those things?" I ask in wonder.

"There wasn't nearly as much of them then as there was today," Haymitch replies. "Besides, you've encountered them once yourself."

"There wasn't much of them then either. Also, they couldn't catch my scent since the wind was blowing in the other direction."

"Strange how we just happened to come across so many of those bloody mutts today," Haymitch comments offhandedly.

I had actually been wondering the same thing myself. It could've possibly been the work of our dear friends the Gamemakers.

Perhaps _this_ is their retribution for Haymitch's insolence. Their vengeance for that pawn comment he made two days ago.

I certainly hope so, if it means that's all they'll do.

"We should get going," Haymitch says, already beginning to move.

Looking up to the sky, I figure we'll only walk for another two maybe three hours. That's something I can do. So, putting on my backpack, I go after him.

The world transforms into a completely different place, as dusk turns into night.

Animals active during the day hurry in search of shelter from the fast approaching moon. Nocturnal animals slowly emerge from wherever it was they had been during the day. The sounds are all different. The shading and tones of the woods are different too.

It's closer to four hours then three when we come across a clearing. Seeing as how we're both hungry and tired, Haymitch and I agree to stop for the day.

We rest on the ground, where there is a small bed of grass. And no flowers grow, thankfully. Above, we have a breathtaking view of the stars sprinkled across the clear sky. Tonight is a full moon.

I eat the rest of the raccoon meat and some boar. As is routine, we share a drop biscuit.

My spirit dampens when I see that we've already gone through half the tin.

Once done, Haymitch lies down on his back, his arms behind his head. He has his legs sprawled out comfortably. His eyes are wide open so I know he isn't planning on sleeping just yet.

Shrugging, I lie down next to him in the grass.

I stare up in wonder at all the stars high above of us.

"Do you know any constellations?" I ask Haymitch, keeping my eyes fixed to the sky.

"Surprisingly, I do," he answers, not elaborating anymore than that.

"Who showed them to you?"

"My father," Haymitch replies. "He pointed them out to me when we went hunting."

"When you went-"

"Yeah," he interrupts, knowing how the rest of that question would go.

"Would you show me some?"

Haymitch lies in silence for such a long time I'm beginning to think he doesn't want to.

I'm about to tell him to never mind, when he suddenly points at a cluster of stars.

"That, there, is called Cepheus; named after a king in Greek mythology who ruled the land of Ethiopia."

He points to a smaller cluster to the right of Cepheus. "That is Cassiopeia. Another Greek myth, she was the wife and queen of Cepheus."

"That's amazing," I exclaim in wonderment. "What else can you remember?"

Looking at Haymitch, I see his face knot in concentration as he searches for constellations.

He suddenly smiles and points to the sky again. I follow the direction and see a particularly long huddle of stars.

"That's Hydra. The longest constellation, and the largest in terms of area, it takes more than six hours to rise completely."

"Another Greek myth?" I guess, recognising the name from I book I read once.

"Yeah," Haymitch confirms. "That one, there, is Virgo." He points out. "Also known as The Maiden, it is said to represent almost every famous and powerful female in mythology."

"Like Athena, Artemis, Persephone, and Demeter," I suggest, listing all the females that I can remember from Greek mythology.

"Exactly," he agrees. "See how she appears to be holding a staff and a grain of wheat."

I see it.

"That gain of wheat happens to be the brightest star in the constellation by the name of Spica," Haymitch continues.

"Are there others you can remember?" I ask somewhat quietly, not wishing to disturb the peace that comes with stargazing.

"Just one more; Draco the Dragon," he answers, pointing to it. "The easiest way to spot Draco is by his head. It consists of four stars in a trapezoid."

"He doesn't sound like something from out of a myth," I comment.

Haymitch shakes his head. "No, he is. It is said that a dragon guarded a golden apple tree from which the demigod Hercules was expected to steal from as part of his twelve labours."

"Oh, I remember that story with the dragon."

"Well that's him," Haymitch says, nodding towards it as he speaks.

We lie in silence, just staring up at the sky. And it's the most serene and at ease I've been in such a long time. There is something peaceful about listing to Haymitch pointing out constellations; his voice quiet and gentle, soft like the rain when it isn't storming.

We could almost be lying in the woods just outside of District 12. Not that I've ever been out there myself, of course. But I can imagine that it's similar in appearance to where we currently are.

We don't bother waiting for a death recap tonight. There isn't going to be one. No one died today. Haymitch and I _did_ narrowly escaped being eaten alive by golden squirrels however.

As thoughts of the Games return, my newfound feeling of serenity disappears. Wanting to get it back, I focus on the stars.

"It's moments like this that makes you realise just how insignificant we are in the grand scheme of things," I finally comment.

"It really does," Haymitch replies quietly. So quietly I almost miss it.

I allow myself to wonder what it is my family is doing as of right now. It hurts a little to think of them, but I can't exactly help it.

Are they watching Haymitch and me as we observe stars? Do they even dare tune in to the Fiftieth Hunger Games every night, knowing this could be the day I die? Or are they currently trying to move on and convince themselves I'll definitely come home soon?

I can't even begin to wonder what they are possibly going through. The closest I've ever been in their position was when a girl in my class was reaped. This was two years ago. She used to sit right next to me. We never talked or anything. I can still remember sitting at home, watching as the Games began.

She rose up from underground on her platform with her head held high. Originally from the Seam, I could still tell she had put on some much needed weight. Her soft but murky eyes had scanned the arena and her surroundings most critically.

That year, the arena was a muddy swampland. Not a particularly great year with mosquitoes passing off malaria to half the tributes.

My classmate needn't worry about, having died in the bloodbath.

She had been speared through the heart while trying to make a run for it away from the Cornucopia.

I still remember the look of shock on her facing, looking down to the tip of a spear protruding from her chest; the look on the face of the Career from District Two as he pulled the spear out of her; how he cackled about her being his first kill.

She had left behind three younger siblings.

I sit up quickly, suddenly feeling cold and like I'm about to throw up.

Haymitch looks at me curiously. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," I lie, "just cold is all." I put on my jacket, zipping it up for warmth. Then I drink some water to quell my stomach.

I lie back down, breathing deeply to calm myself down.

"It's late," Haymitch comments after awhile. "You should rest."

I hesitate, afraid of what sleep will bring.

Bad dreams, no doubt.

"You sleep. I'll take first watch," I offer.

Haymitch pins me with a stare. "What's wrong?" he repeats again.

"Nothing," I answer, doing my best to sound normal; even going so far as giving him a reassuring smile.

Finally breaking the stare, he looks back to the sky. "Then you should have no problem sleeping."

Unable to argue back to the logic of that argument, I close my eyes.

I force myself to relax and be lulled to sleep by the sound of Haymitch's rhythmic breathing.

It takes quite awhile but I eventually do fall into a restless sleep.


	27. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Haymitch wakes me up so that he can get a little sleep himself.

As he lies back on the grass, I sit up from where I had been sleeping. I sit with my legs bent in front of me, my elbows resting on my knees, and my hands twirling around the small hunting knife I procured from that psychotic tribute from District 8.

The full moon illuminates the entire clearing in a wash of pale light.

Rustling in the nearby bushes has me on edge until I see a small white rabbit bound out of it. I'm reminded of the little rabbit that had led me to safety back when the volcano erupted. I smile, then, keeping a close eye on it until it disappears into the woods. As the last of its hind legs and tail goes out of view, I am also reminded of the white rabbit with the pocket watch from Alice in Wonderland. My mother, being a fan of Lewis Carroll, would read that story to Meredith and me when we were a great deal younger. I was always fond of that book and enjoyed many of the quotes found in it.

Soon bored of twisting the knife around, I place it back in its sheath strapped to my thigh. Then I stare back up at the night sky.

I try to indentify all the constellations that Haymitch had shown me, but can only find about half of them. Eventually giving up, I try to come up with my own. With this, I am able to find a ladle, a scorpion, a turtle, a penguin, and even a centaur.

Amazed, I go on staring, watching as the stars slowly vanish one-by-one. As the stars fade, the sun is there to slowly take its place.

I run my fingers absentmindedly through my hair. Vaguely I feel something in it, something small; almost minuscule. Bringing my hand down towards eye level, I see that there is dry blood in my hair.

Probably from when the squirrels were scratching at my head.

I go about running my fingers through my hair, trying to get the dry blood and dirt out of it. Then I go back go staring at the vanishing stars.

With dawn fast approaching, I decide that Haymitch would want to be woken.

As I reach over and begin shaking him awake a trembling deep in the ground causes me to fall. I end up falling forwards, sprawled on top of Haymitch.

He wakes with a grunt.

I turn my head to see him looking back at me. "There are other ways of waking me, you know," Haymitch says. "Or have you fallen for me already?" he continues with a cocky grin.

Cheeks burning hot, I quickly get off him.

"The ground suddenly shook as I was waking you up," I explain.

Right around then, there is another shaking of the ground.

Haymitch sits up and frowns. "It could be another volcanic eruption."

My stomach drops at the possibility.

"All the more reason to start moving as soon as possible," he continues.

With that, we eat some hog meat and half a mint cookie before packing up our things.

We exit the clearing and enter back into the woods.

There is still some pre-morning mist shrouding the woods in mystery as we walk through the trees at the edge of the clearing.

As we move along through the woods I can't help but think about the erupting volcano.

Like it is doing now, the ground had shook hours prior to the eruption. Back then I couldn't understand it, simply chalking it up to an earthquake. Now, as I begin thinking about it, all the pieces start to fit together and it all starts making a lot of sense.

Volcanos are caused by plates shifting in the ground. That shifting could easily be mistaken for an earthquake. This means we may very well have another volcano eruption on our hands.

And this makes complete sense, seeing as how there were no deaths yesterday.

The Capitol is bound to get restless. The Gamemakers are simply keeping things interesting.

So with these recent revelations, I trudge on behind Haymitch with a heavy heart.

As predicted, the ground continues shaking throughout the rest of the morning. In fact, it gets so bad to the point that Haymitch and I almost decide to wear the goggles and respirators in our possession. However, I point out that no ash is falling down from the sky and therefore it's not likely to be the volcano. So we agree that it must just be a regular earthquake.

At one point, an unexpected earthquake causes me to lose my footing. I would have fallen had Haymitch not caught my wrist in time.

When finally afternoon arrives, we decide to rest and get something to eat.

Climbing up a tree, I poke my head up to get a view of the arena.

As I thought, the sky is a clear blue with clouds drifting here and there. The volcano remains dormant and looks like the snow-capped mountain we all thought it to be. I'm completely taken aback by how tiny it looks, though. From here, the volcano looks like a speck in the distance. I turn the other way, the way we're been heading all along, to see if I can make out anything. I can't be sure but there looks to be a massive green wall at the end of the forest. The end of the forest, in question, looks to be a day to twos walk away.

Excitedly climb down the tree; I explain to Haymitch what I saw.

"We might be able to make it to the end of the woods in one or two days," I finish excitedly.

"That's great," Haymitch replies enthusiastically. Well, as enthusiastically as he is able to get.

We eat sitting on a fallen log.

I eat the boar with new vigour. Or so it looks.

I'm putting on a front because truthfully I have mixed feelings about reaching the end of the woods. On the one hand, we've been walking through it for so long I won't be sorry when we leave it behind us. One the other hand, we are that much closer to the end of the arena and therefore the end of our alliance.

I think to how much fun last night was, with Haymitch pointing out constellations. We've been through a heck of an ordeal since the start of this alliance. If I'm being completely honest, I'll be sorry when we have to end this thing we have going; protecting and looking out for each other.

But it can't come down to the two of us. It just can't.

Haymitch, having eaten enough and holding a bottle of water, gets up.

I quickly put the rest of the wild boar meat away before standing up myself. Giving myself a quick dust off, I nod to Haymitch.

With that, we head off further towards the end of the woods again.

After we've walked for about an hour or two, I begin to get thirsty again. So I pull out a bottle and take small sips as we keep going.

Haymitch does the same.

It's another long day, but knowing just how close we are to the end of this seemingly endless forest, I push on with new zest.

As we're trekking on, I notice that several of the scratches and bites inflicted by the fluffy squirrels begin to itch quite badly. I inspect my arms and see nothing out of the ordinary. Granted, some of the small wounds are red, they don't appear to be a cause for concern. Just yet.

Ignoring it, I decide to inspect the wounds more thoroughly once we stop for a rest again.

The next time we stop, another three hours must have passed.

My legs are aching and my head is pounding. I sit on an overgrown tree root and gulp down some water. Haymitch takes a seat beside me.

We silently drink our water, giving ourselves the chance to rest.

I put away my water bottle and do what I've been meaning to do for the past three hours. Lifting my arms for inspection, I gasp, seeing that the red wounds are even redder now. It is slowly spreading out to the rest of my skin.

Haymitch hears the commotion and takes a look himself.

"You need to clean out those wounds," he states calmly enough.

"It's too late now," I say regretfully, "It looks as though most of it has been infected already."

Haymitch remains silent for a moment, thinking. "It's not too late. What you need is an antibiotic."

He digs into his bag, looking for something.

Unable to find what it is he is searching for, he looks back at me. "Where's that cream that was in here?"

I chew on my lip a little before answering. "I used it all on you after the whole encounter with that guy from 6."

"You shouldn't have done that."

"I didn't know what else to do," I say defensively, frowning slightly.

Haymitch zips his bag and shoulders it. "It doesn't matter now. What's done is done. Let's go."

I hurry after him, wondering what will happen if my wounds are left untreated, how much time I have left. Grim thoughts, but I have to be realistic.

Haymitch leads us forward quickly, not wasting any time. At this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if we reach the end of the woods by nightfall.

I don't know from where he gets his reserves of energy, because as surely as the sun is setting in the west, I can slowly feel my energy draining.

The longer we walk the more often do I lag behind. Every time this happens, Haymitch is forced to stop and wait for me.

This goes on for awhile, too often for me to keep track of, until Haymitch finally says that maybe another break is in order.

I couldn't agree more.

So we sit, on the ground with our backs against a tree. I pull out my drink bottle, shocked to find one 600ml almost empty.

Not one to be deterred so easily, I calmly drink from that bottle.

As we continue to rest in the late afternoon, something in the sky catches our attention.

It's a parachute.

Haymitch gets up and catches it just as it is within his reach. He quickly pulls apart the thin strings and pushes aside the lid.

"What is it?" I ask, getting up on my feet and walking quickly over to him.

"An antibiotic," he answers, pulling out a jar of honey, "Just like you needed."

I stare at him in complete disbelief.

He laughs. "Don't look so surprised to find that you've got sponsors, Donner."

I blink a couple of times, dumbfounded. "Well maybe it's for you," I say. "You know how plain those drop biscuits are." The tone I use for that second sentence is laced with affection, so I don't worry about anyone in District 12 taking offence.

"There is no way I'll use it when it's much better spent on you," Haymitch states, placing the small jar into my hands.

"Thanks," I say, feeling touched.

"Thank me by using it right now," he replies, sitting back down. I sit down too.

Opening the jar, I dip my index and middle finger into it. Then I proceed to coat any particularly nasty wounds on my arms and legs with honey. Once done, I even lift my shirt up slightly, exposing my stomach, and attend to those ones there too.

All done, I replace the lid on the jar and add it into my backpack. Then I turn to Haymitch, who is practicing his knots on the string attached to the parachute.

I freeze when I see it.

Haymitch notices. "What is it?"

"I just realised that I cut my hair for no reason," I say, absolutely horrified.

He looks down at his hands and seems to get it. "Oh, because you could've used a string from the parachute," Haymitch speculates.

I can only nod in shock. "I was so tired and worried about you that I wasn't even thinking straight."

"It'll grow back," he offers helpfully, if a little uncertainly.

"Let's just go," I say tiredly.

Evidently grateful for an exit out of the conversation, Haymitch agrees ardently.

We resume our journey out of the woods. As we do, my mind goes back to the small jar of honey in the pack. Then it's thinking about Konrad, the person who sent it in the first place.

I'm reminded of our last conversation together; about the repercussions of being in the Games. Then I'm thinking about him as a mentor.

I think about how every year he is forced to face two kids. Two kids he is expected to keep alive for as long as possible in a place where other kids are trying to kill them. How year after year, for the last decade, he is forced to watch as they die right before his eyes. How deep down he blames himself for their deaths. How, even though they are gone, he is bound to see their parents and family members. What could you possibly say to them?

"Have you ever thought about what it means to be a mentor?" I suddenly ask Haymitch as we carry on moving through the woods.

"Only that you get to live in a nice big house with your family and that your entire district is better off for a year because of it."

"No," I say, "I meant what it _really_ means. Think about what Konrad goes through every year."

"It's crap, is that what you're trying to get at?"

"I guess."

"Then, yes, I have thought about it. But the alternative is death. And I'm not about to just roll over and die. My family needs me."

"That's amazing when you put it that way," I acknowledge.

"It's just common sense," Haymitch says, his tone leaving no room for any more idle chitchat.

I take the hint and remain silent as we walk through to late dusk.

It gets frightfully colder as night descends. As we stop for the day and eat, I shudder to think of sleeping in such cold weather.

"We can't possibly sleep out in the open in this weather," I comment.

"We should build a lean-to," Haymitch suggests.

I give him an odd stare.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing, I'm just wondering if we can make one big enough for two."

Haymitch shrugs. "Nothing venture, nothing gained."

First thing we find are very long but very strong branches. I strip the largest branch of its leaves as Haymitch finds more we can use.

Once we're both done, we focus our attention on building the backbone of the shelter, tying off the largest branch on two trees standing a good distance apart. Before we proceed any further, we test out the strength of the backbone we made.

Being tied off with rope on both ends it doesn't come as a great surprise to find that it more than meets our requirements.

Next, we start lining up closely the rest of the branches against the backbone of the shelter at a forty-five degree angle. I place our jackets on the place where backbone and branches meet, hoping that that would stop the branches from being unstable.

Finally, we cover the sides of the lean-to with smaller branches. These sides are also known as the ribs. Altogether, it takes us two hours to complete the lean-on.

Stepping back to admire the work, I am rather impressed by how stable it looks.

"Not bad," Haymitch comments beside me.

Knowing that he would want to take first watch, I move towards the back of the lean-to, giving Haymitch plenty of room to sit by its entrance.

I eventually fall asleep, the fact that no one died today not lost on me.


	28. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Dawn must still be a good couple of hours away when I wake up.

Turning at the sound of me sitting up, Haymitch sees that I have woken.

We change places as he sleeps and I take over on sentinel duty.

As I sit keeping watch, I shiver when a particularly strong gale of wind brushes by. Seeing as how there haven't been any deaths in the past two days, I can't help but wonder whether or not the Gamemakers are purposely bringing about the winds.

Maybe they hope that by making the arena as cold as possible, someone will eventually become desperate enough to light a fire.

It certainly seems like something they'd do.

Taking my mind off the Gamemakers, I try to think about anything else. That's when I realise that today will be day thirteen in the arena. I almost can't even be sure; keeping track of time is that difficult. Time seems to move differently in here than it does out there.

I sigh, staring around for any signs of movement. It's not that easy to do seeing as the wind is making the entire woods move.

Drinking water, I wait a little impatiently for morning, sitting restlessly with my mind all over the place.

I can't help but wonder what lies at the end of the arena. How long it will be until this alliance ends. When the next death will be.

Getting up quietly, I decide to take a walk to calm my racing mind.

I pace back and forth. After doing this for ten minutes, I am surprised to find that it actually works. My head clears and I try keeping it blank.

Eventually I'm calm enough to sit back down, watching as the sky grows lighter.

Despite my restlessness, I leave Haymitch to sleep. He can wake up on his own.

A very long hour later and that is what he does.

We eat some more wild boar and I finish off the other half of the mint cookie I'd been saving. Eventually, it is time to move again. We get our jackets and ropes first before going anywhere.

As the day progresses, the weather becomes perceptibly warmer. The wind even dies out. Encouraged by the warm weather, animals slowly begin venturing out of their shelters to bask in the sun.

Haymitch and I are careful not to let any of them get too close.

During our first break of the day, I decide to climb a tree to see how much more walking we have to do.

My heart sinks.

Despite our quick pace and the wide distance we covered yesterday, the huge green wall looks to be about a good days walk.

Climbing back down, I explain the situation to Haymitch.

He doesn't seem too deterred. "We better get a move on, then," he says.

With that, we resume our hike.

I strain my ears for sounds of a cannon, both hoping to hear and not hear it at the same time.

Another death means the bloodlust of the Capitol will be sated for the time being, and therefore no Gamemakers intervention. There's no telling what they will come up with next otherwise.

However, another death means there will only be four of us left. Haymitch and I would be that much closer to being forced to face each other.

But no cannon sound.

We trail on through the woods at a good pace, one I can easily keep up with.

Breaks aren't all that frequent, but when we do take them, I make use of each one.

The next rest we have is on some flat rocks by some small trees in the forest. I take this time to get out the small jar of honey and reapply it to the same wounds as the previous day.

They look like they could be getting better already, I notice with relief.

 _Maybe it wasn't too late after all._

Soon we are heading towards the end of the woods again. We don't talk much, only the occasional communication relating to breaks and whatnot.

I refrain from asking loads of questions, for which Haymitch is surely grateful for.

"You're unusually quiet," he ends up commenting.

"There isn't much to talk about," I shrug off.

"I just thought you'd be chatting away nonstop, now that we know the end of the woods is so close."

I scowl half-heartedly. "I don't talk _that_ often."

Haymitch laughs once, "If you say so."

Rolling my eyes, I move on without comment, not willing to add fuel to the fire that is his perception of my 'talkative' personality.

"So do you think the Gamemakers will make a move, now that two days have passed without any deaths?" Haymitch asks, obviously trying to engage me in conversation.

"Possibly," I say shortly.

"What do you think they'll do?"

"Beats me."

Soon we take another break.

I use this time to apply some more honey onto my irritated wounds. We quickly drink some water before it is time to go again.

The morning drags on, seemingly longer in my opinion. But then, it could just be my imagination. Eventually the wind returns, thankfully not nearly as bad as it was the previous night.

I can still feel the dirt and dusk flying into my hair and eyes and mouth.

No, the wind now is just enough the chase away the slightly warm weather the sun is beating down. For which I am grateful.

Another hour passes and I'm beginning to feel the lack of sleep.

I march on tiredly, slowing down every now and again. This fact isn't lost on Haymitch, who is forced to stop each and every time and wait for me to eventually catch up to where he is.

It isn't long before another rest is in order.

I lean against a tree and look upwards.

A brilliant clear sky pokes out from the gaps in the ceiling of the forest created by the tops of trees. The greens of the leaves vary in different shades, and the wind creates even more hues as they rustle away gently.

I must've fallen asleep, because before I know it, Haymitch is crouched in front of me and shaking me awake.

"I fell asleep," I stated dazedly.

"That's why you shouldn't keep insisting on starting your watch early," Haymitch says. "Let me tell you when to start your watch."

"Okay, fine," I reply, still much too tired to reply, despite of the nap.

Haymitch stands up, offering me a hand. "Let's get going."

I get back on my feet with his help.

He turns and walks off, me quickly following behind.

It's a very long morning of walking and pretty soon my legs start to ache again. But I persevere, wanting to reach the end of the woods as soon as possible. So, ignoring my legs I strive to keep up with Haymitch.

We walk until early afternoon, when we decide to sit for a lunchbreak.

Sitting in a tree, Haymitch and I eat a bit more boar before splitting a drop biscuit.

"The wild hog will only last us about one more day," I comment, wrapping it up and putting it in my ragged backpack.

"We can always hunt something else when we run out of meat," Haymitch suggests, breaking a biscuit and handing me half.

Taking the half biscuit, I nod in agreement. Hopefully we'll run into a raccoon.

Once we've eaten that and gotten some water into us, we set off again.

As we traverse the woods, I look around anxiously for anything out of the ordinary.

I'm half expecting the Gamemakers to unleash their latest abomination, or initiate something that will only endanger our lives and make life in the arena more difficult than it already is.

But nothing appears and nothing happens.

 _Maybe I should stop being so on edge._

But no, being constantly on the alert is what keeps you alive in the arena. It might put a massive strain on you mentally, but it's better to be safe than sorry. That's what I firmly believe, anyway.

The warm early afternoon brings with it nothing particularly eventful.

We hike on, ignoring all the deceptive beauty that the arena offers.

I'm so focused and concentrated on observing our surroundings that I almost didn't catch it when Haymitch asks, "What's one of your interests?"

I'm completely taken aback by the unexpected the question. "Where'd that question come from?"

Haymitch shrugs casually. "I'm just trying to figure out what your talent would be; should you become the victor this year."

Since being a victor means you're set for life, you aren't expected to either work in school or your district's industry. Therefore victors take up some activity of interest, something they can be interviewed about.

This activity of interest is referred to as their talent.

Konrad's talent was calligraphy. He could use both quill and brush expertly. Personally, I think he didn't care much for it and only took it up because he had to show the public something. Because as soon as the next victor was announced the following year, and interest was directed away from him, Konrad stopped. Or so I've been told.

"What are you-," I shake my head and start again, "I like flower arranging."

"I'm sure Jack would be thrilled to hear that."

Jack's parents own a little florist shop in town back in Twelve.

"What would your talent be?" I ask Haymitch.

"Chess," he replies easily.

We continue onwards, my head swimming from that conversation.

I still find it hard to process the fact that Haymitch had asked such a trivial and mundane question. Much less a personal one.

"Are you feeling okay?" I ask, turning to inspect his face.

He looks perfectly healthy to me, if a little worn down. Given what we've been through in the Games so far, I can't blame him.

"Fine," he replies, "why do you ask?"

"No reason," I answer quickly, "just curious."

Thankfully, Haymitch drops the subject and we resume walking in a peaceful silence.

Afternoon seems to stretch on for what essentially feels like an eternity.

We trudge on through the woods at what feels like a decent pace. So it becomes incomprehensible to me as to why we don't seem to be getting any closer to the edge of the woods. Just to be on the safe side, I even climb a tree to make sure we were heading in the right direction.

As it turns out, we are.

But the distance between where we currently are and the edge of the woods is still very far. Clearly I underestimated the distance we had left to traverse.

Wanting to cover as much distance as possible while there is still sunlight out, I climb down the tree, tired, but still filled with a great zeal to see the end of the woods.

The afternoon wanes at an almost intolerable rate.

I begin thinking about how it was that I had got into the art of floral arranging in the first place. And that is all thanks to Lyanna.

Lyanna was Jack's sister. She was older than us by six years and was Meredith and my babysitter up until we turned seven. We would be walked to the florist shop and stay there while our parents minded our own store. Other times, we would go straight there after school, walking with Jack and Lyanna.

It wasn't that my parents couldn't look after us themselves while they ran the sweetshop, but Lyanna was always looking for ways to earn a little money on the side for her own parents. She found a way of doing that through babysitting us.

It was during our times at the florist that Lyanna had introduced both Meredith and me to flower arranging. I'd taken to it much faster than Meredith, much to her chagrin.

Thinking about Lyanna is bittersweet in that it brings with it several emotions.

It brings nostalgia, remembering those long afternoons dedicated to flower arranging. It brings about happiness, remembering how much fun we had. And it brings about sadness, knowing we will never see her again.

When she was fifteen, Lyanna had a fatal asthma attack. She was home alone and without a working inhaler.

Ever since her death, Jack has kept his distance from Meredith and me. Seeing us must bring painful memories of his sister.

Haymitch leads us closer to the edge of the forest. By now it's late afternoon. My nerves are taut and muscles tense. I continue glancing about, more uptight than ever as time goes by with still no deaths. Haymitch is obviously tense too, by the haunch of his shoulders and the way he grips the strap of his backpack until his knuckles turn white.

Today seems to put a major strain on the both of us, physically and mentally.

I'm also partly in a foul mood now realising that there is still a long while to go before we will reach the end of the woods. Realising, also, that despite the arduous journey we've made so far it doesn't look as though we even covered that much distance.

I tell myself to hold on for just a little while longer, that surely this time tomorrow we'd have reached the end of the woods.

Eventually, after several hours of walking, we decide that it is time to rest.

Haymitch and I sit in a tree and wait for our strengths to return. We couldn't have rested for any more than five minutes before we're climbing back down and resuming our journey.

The longer we stay in the woods the more convinced I am that the Gamemakers must be making the forest stretch on longer than it was before.

The longer we stay in the woods the more I must be slowly going insane.

Finally I decide to give my mind time off from its slow descent into insanity by forcing myself to admire the beauty of the woods.

I force myself to really admire the different hues of the different trees. I force myself to appreciate the woodsy aroma permeating the air. Haymitch and I discreetly pass by a stag and doe and I tell myself how majestic and wonderful they look, standing proudly like some guardians of the forest.

Soon we take another short break, this time sitting on the root of an old tree. I take this opportunity to use some more honey on myself.

Once we're back on our feet and moving along, I take several sips of water.

I begin looking around nervously again as time continues to pass by without anything happening.

 _Just what exactly do those Gamemakers have planned?_

Before long any rustling in the bushes or up a tree has me constantly reaching for the smooth handle of the knife at my side. My eyes dart every which way, unable to focus on the one spot for long.

It's early dusk now and I'm beginning to wonder just how much distance we covered altogether today.

Half an hour passes before we agree to take another rest stop.

As Haymitch and I rest in another tree, we see something completely unexpected. The sight of it renders us utterly speechless, though honestly we haven't been doing that much talking anyway.

We continue to stare at the sky, where not one, but two parachutes are floating down to us.


	29. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

As the parachutes continue to float down, Haymitch and I grab one each.

I analyse the parcel and it looks like any other. That is, until a small H on one of the side corners catch my attention. I turn towards Haymitch and see him inspecting the M written on his package.

"I think this is yours," I say, holding out the parcel so he clearly sees the simple inscription.

"I think that's a safe bet," Haymitch agrees, accepting the parcel and handing me mine.

I take it and notice that both feel extremely light. With some unexplainable feeling of trepidation, I untie the string.

I don't understand why it should make me feel so nervous. With the other parachutes we have received there was some nervousness, sure, but there was always an overriding feeling of excitement.

Opening the package fast, as one would rip off a bandaid, I see three envelopes. Each one has something written on their fronts.

Our Darling Daughter

May

Maisie

My heartbeat quickens. I turn to Haymitch. "This is-" I stop but stare as he hastily opens an envelope of his own. This one addressed My Sensational Son

With great delicacy I open the letter I recognise as being written by my mother.

Maysilee,

Words cannot possibly describe how proud your father and I are of you. We have watched you grown into such a fine young woman and are glad to see that the wretched Games have not changed that. Don't ever let it change you. Always do your absolute best. Remember that you will always, always have a loving family at home to come back to. Stay warm, stay safe. Drink plenty of water and get plenty of sleep whenever you possibly can. We have never, ever for once doubted that you would make it this far and know that you will make it even further. Have faith, my sweetheart. Have hope and we will surely see each other again soon. We miss you so, so much. Things haven't been the same around the house without you in it. Sometimes at night I would catch your sister hugging your pillow. I think it smells and reminds her of you. And that makes _me_ miss holding you in my arms. I regret not doing it more often. I regret not telling you every single day that I love you, because of course I do. We all do. But come home to us, my love, and I'll do my best to make sure you never, ever forget that. Stay close to that boy. He'll help you whenever you need it. He'll help you for us. Always, always remember that whenever things look grim or dark, a bright sun will rise again and light your path. Let that path be your guide home. To us. Chin up and show the world your dazzling smile. Show them that you aren't afraid of whatever it is they have to throw at you. Things may seem the stuff of nightmares now, my darling, but it'll pass. I promise you it will pass. Whenever you feel alone just look to the moon and be comforted by the fact that I, too, am looking at it. That maybe we aren't nearly as far apart as you may think.

Love always, Your Parents

By the end of the letter, my vision becomes impaired and blurry.

I am surprised to find that I have tears forming in my eyes. They have yet to fall. I hastily wipe them away before they have the chance.

Gathering my thoughts and emotions together, I gently place my mother's letter back into its envelope. Then I place the envelope into my backpack.

I can't help but sneak a look at Haymitch.

He has his eyes glued to the letter, like it is a lifeline that will tell him how to get out of this nightmare and return home to his awaiting family. As his eyes scan the contents of the letter, Haymitch has an almost pained look plastered on his face.

Before he can notice that I am staring, I quickly hold the remaining letters in my hand and focus on them.

I look from the one to the other, trying to decide which I should read next.

There is one envelope addressed in my sister's neat and simple writing.

The other I recognise as being beautifully written in the careful hand of Jasmine.

I continue staring from one letter to the other, torn between which one to read next.

The sound of an envelope opening tells me Haymitch is opening another one of his letters. Encouraged by this somehow, I put aside Jasmine's letter and carefully open Meredith's envelope from the side.

I then unfold the paper and proceed to read it.

Dearest Maysilee

Please, please, please come home. I miss you so much. Mother and father miss you a lot too. The sweetshop and house is simply too quiet without you there to fill it with your presence. Melody is constantly singing. Perhaps she hopes that if she sings often enough maybe one day you'll return to her. Return to us. I watch the Games rituality. Not necessarily because I want to, but because I need to know how you're doing. Again, I must apologise for not being brave enough to volunteer in your place. You wouldn't have had to go through any of the things you're going through right now if I had only taken your place. But you're the bravest most courageous person I know. You're the greatest sister anyone could ask for. If anyone can win this thing, it's you. Never, ever give up. Not on yourself. Not on us. The next time we went to school after the reaping, Jack came and talked to me. Did you ever realise he hadn't spoken to us since we were nine? Anyway, we chatted and he told me that he has every reason to believe you can win this. I believe so too. So work hard and take care of that mockingjay pin. That way you can properly give it to me in person. Because I admit I really do like it.

Your Loving Sister, Edith

Reading that letter I start to choked up.

I stare at it, running my fingers along the words written on it. The paper is of such top quality that it could only have been provided by the Capitol.

Usually the type of paper found in District 12 isn't to such standard as this paper here.

Carefully, I fold the letter and put it away. Haymitch is doing the same. The cover of his second letter is addressed **Mitchie**

I smile, knowing that Haymitch would never let anyone call him that.

That letter could only have been from his brother.

I stare at the last of the envelopes left to read. This one weighs heavily, being the last of the letters to arrive from the outside world.

Unable to move a single muscle just yet, I focus intently on Jasmine's neat and tidy writing.

I'm reminded of the days spent looking over her notes from school. I was always too zoned out to even be bothered listening. She would gently chastise me for not taking my own notes and paying attention in class. But eventually she would relent and share her notes with me. She isn't the type to leave you high and dry. No, she would help anyone to the best of her abilities if she saw that they were distressed in one way or another.

Time is ticking.

Steeling myself, I open the last letter just as Haymitch moves on to his third envelope too. Casting my eyes downwards, I begin to read.

May

Your show of courage and bravery is something to be admired. After the reaping, I was worried about you. But as time went by and you continued to survive in the arena, I began to see your true strength. Admittedly, I also worried less, seeing what a great team you and Haymitch make. You two are survivors.

I miss you every single day but live in hope that we will see each other again soon. Do not be discouraged when it seems as though the entire world is against you. But live on with the knowledge that you will always have the support of a small part of that world. A small part by the name of District 12. You would be absolutely amazed by how excited everyone in Twelve is to see you and Haymitch make it to the top five. Everyone is united and scraping up money to send you both more gifts. Never before have I ever seen Konrad get approached by so many people at the one time. But he seems to tolerate the rest of us enough. He seems to know that everyone just has your best interest at heart and want to bring you home. I would tell you to remember our lessons on the properties of plants and berries. But that point would be completely moot, seeing as how essentially everything there is lethal and poisoned. By the way, I really love what you did with your hair. The road so far may seem a dull thing but smile. It will only get better from here. Trust in yourself and believe you can get through this. And I mean _really_ believe. Keep doing your very best to survive. Best of luck for the days to come.

With Love, Jasmine

I'm now a complete emotional wreck.

Finishing Jasmine's letter, I have the sudden urge to see everyone again. My will to get the hell out of this arena returns tenfold.

I run a hand over my eyes and to my temple, rubbing it. Sitting like that for a moment, I allow all the emotions to flow through me.

Once recovered somewhat, I put away Jasmine's letter along with the others in my pack. Haymitch puts his third letter away too.

He rummages through the package his envelopes came in and pulls out a fourth letter.

I feel a slight pang of envy, seeing that he has received four letters whereas I only have the three. It's also surprising to see so many people writing to him.

Haymitch reads the envelope before turning towards me, the late dusk casting his sharp jaw and facial features in mild shadow.

"This is for the both of us," he states.

I stare, dumbfounded. "Who could it possibly be from?"

In answer, he holds the envelop out for me to see.

My Tributes

"Konrad?" I asked, unbelievingly.

"Let's see what he has to say," Haymitch suggests, already opening the envelope.

He soon takes out the slightly crinkled letter and unfolds it quickly.

Together, we read the letter from our mentor in the dim light of dusk.

Kids,

Because let's face it, that's what you two still are. Well done for making it as far as you have. Firstly let me just say for the record that this was never my idea. Remember that you can never trust anything in the arena. The most wonderful thing you see as a gift from above may well have an ulterior function; as opposed to the seemingly innocent function of simply lifting your spirits. You will do well to keep that in mind. I'm glad you were able to make good use of all the gifts I have sent you up until now. You'd be pleased to know, I'm sure, that your district really cares a lot for you both. Don't lose faith and just keep telling yourself to hold on for just another day. Do me a favour and just look out for each other. Good luck and see you on the other side.

Your Mentor, Konrad

P.s Wendy says 'Hello'

Once finished reading, we both sit in silence, thinking over Konrad's words.

"So what do you think?" I eventually ask Haymitch.

"I think it's time we set off again," he replies, folding away the letter and putting it in his bag.

Rolling my eyes, because clearly that was not what I meant, I climb down after Haymitch.

As we walk, I notice that Haymitch doesn't seem at all affected by those letters.

 _Maybe he's just putting on a facade._

Be that as it may, I know my letters did a real number on me. But then I'm thinking of Konrad's note and how he couldn't have made it clearer. I wonder how I could have possibly overlooked it.

The gift from above he mentioned clearly refers to parachutes. He even went so far as to underline those words.

That means that one of the gifts we received is clearly there to do more than meets the eyes. Konrad mentioned something about being glad we used his other gifts up until now. And the only other gifts we have received recently are the letters. It makes perfect sense when I remember Konrad stating that this was never his idea.

That raises the question of whose idea it was. I think to the quality of each letter. How I thought it could only have come straight from the Capitol.

Of course it was the Gamemakers.

These letters are the Gamemakers' doing. They must be trying to make us miss home and distressed, sending us into despair and unable to think straight.

Thinking about it, it's pretty genius on their part.

Some tributes might become desperate to go home that they might opt to hunting down others. I remember badly wanting to go home myself.

With this new revelation, I would not be surprised in the least to find that the other three tributes received letters of their own.

Haymitch must have figured that much out himself already. That would definitely explain why he isn't letting the letters get to him.

Determined to do the same, I push thoughts of the letters to the back of my mind. Only it isn't nearly as easy to do as I make it sound.

I touch my mockingjay pin for comfort when a thought occurs to me.

"Haymitch," I say, "if I die, would you please take this pin back to my sister for me?"

"You should give yourself more credit than that," he replies.

"What do you mean?"

"Have more faith in your own abilities. Your family isn't going to appreciate you talking like this."

"But I might not be victor material," I point out.

"You're never going to know if you never even try."

"I know a victor when I see one," I tell Haymitch, "and I'm talking to him."

"So, what," he asks, "you're just going to give up?"

"Of course not! I'm just being pragmatic. Between the two of us, it's more likely that you're going to win. And seeing as you're from District 12, you could bring this back personally to my sister."

"Okay," Haymitch eventually relents, "I'll do it."

I beam at him. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he says, taking off through the woods.

As we walk, I allow my mind to wander aimlessly. Predictably, it goes back to the letters.

In a sense, this idea of using letters has got to be one of the most sadistic and calculated thing the Gamemakers have ever done. There is evidence here that the Gamemakers are actually capable of thinking well beyond brute force; that they are even capable of mentally manipulating kids without the need for Tracker Jacker venom.

Tracker Jackers are a type of mutt. They are a species of genetically engineered wasps designed to sting their victims to death. Much like the butterflies in this arena, because you can be sure that getting stung one too many times by them will result in death. That's the same deal with Tracker Jackers. It is said that most people cannot tolerate any more than a couple of stings. Survivors are subject to hallucinations brought upon by the venoms, which is known to also drive the survivor into madness.

I've heard talk that the Capitol have begun injecting test subjects with the venom, trying to manipulate them into thinking and seeing what they want them to.

Also, using the letters is cruel in that it is obvious the Gamemakers wouldn't have told our families the real reason for them. They wouldn't have told them that the letters are a way of manipulating us. I picture my mother writing that letter, thinking it would give me strength. Her good intention, and the evil intentions of the Gamemakers, is what really make me mad.

Covering a lot of distance, Haymitch and I eventually decide to stop for the day.

Sitting against a log, we split the usual biscuit and eat some meat. Much to my dismay, I note how little there is left of both.

 _We're definitely going to need to hunt soon._

Using my backpack as a pillow, I lie down before Haymitch can even say anything. We both know what he would say anyway.

No point wasting breath and having roundabout conversations.

Seeing as it's on the colder side, I pull out my jacket to use as a blanket.

Haymitch draws his knife and begins his watch.

I stare up at what little I can see of the sky, being obscured by the trees.

From what I can make out, the sky tonight is clear of any clouds.

Searching for any of the constellations I had recently been shown, I think I may have found the Hydra's head. I can't be too sure though, considering I have only ever seen it once before.

I don't bother waiting for a death recap tonight since I know there isn't going to be one.

Instead, I think about the letters I've received today and fall asleep comforted to know that there are still people who care whether I live or die.


	30. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

I wake up once but decide that it is still too early for my shift. Closing my eyes again, I allow myself to sleep some more.

Haymitch eventually wakes me and that is when I sit up, rubbing the sleep for my eyes.

Haymitch lies down and is soon sleeping. I turn my attention to the seemingly pitch black woods, drawing my knife and scanning the area.

Nothing to see, I soon let my mind wander. In doing so, I come to realise that we have been in the arena for fourteen days now. It has been exactly a fortnight ago since we first stepped foot into this poison paradise.

It has been a very long two weeks.

I begin to wonder how much longer we will be in the arena for, choosing not to dwell on the fact that four people will be dead before the fifth can escape.

As the night progresses, I alternate between sitting down and pacing about the area, even climbing trees to keep myself awake.

When it is light enough, I take out each letter from yesterday and reread them.

Dawn arrives and Haymitch wakes up to me still huddled over the letters.

"Don't dwell too much on those," he advises. "Remember what Konrad said."

"Right," I say, putting them away. "I was just using them to keep myself awake."

We decide to eat half the remaining boar meat and to have one drop biscuit each, seeing as how the meat alone won't be enough to sustain us. Lastly, we drink some more water before leaving.

While we walk, I take sips from a 600ml bottle, the other one having gone completely empty since breakfast.

As we trek through a clearing, we spot a brown rabbit of good size at the other end. I am almost sorry to see Haymitch's knife lodge itself unexpectedly in one of its eye, until I remember we are almost completely out of food.

We walk over to the corpse of the rabbit.

I think Haymitch is going to gut and skin the rabbit and so am completely caught off guard when he says that I should give it a go.

"You've seen me do it twice now," he is saying. "You should have a general idea of what to do."

"A rabbit is no different in structure and anatomy to a raccoon," he continues when he sees that I am about to protest. "You'll be fine."

And so with great reluctance, I begin by putting my hunting knife into the rabbit under Haymitch's watchful eyes.

I drag the knife down its soft body and cringe internally when blood starts pouring out.

Then I am gutting and disposing of the pieces we don't want under Haymitch's guidance.

Next I use the side of the opening as a starting point to skin the rabbit just as I saw Haymitch do with the raccoon. I have a little trouble with the head and skull for a while but fortunately he patiently guides me through that process as well.

Finally done with gutting and skinning, the last thing I do spilt the meat in half.

"How was that?" I ask, handing Haymitch a piece.

He takes and inspects it thoroughly.

And suddenly I'm back in shop class, presenting my teacher with the finished piece of work and waiting for him to inspect and give me a mark for it.

Haymitch looks up at me and nods in approval. "Not bad," he remarks.

I smile in relief.

Together, we get a small cooking fire started and are soon roasting our halves of the rabbit.

We have a taste once it has cooked properly, wanting to eat it while it is still hot.

The moment we've had enough and put out the fire, we pack everything up before moving off.

Hours pass and the woods keep on stretching on. We hike onwards, determined to travel to the end of the woods today. Haymitch and I don't say it out loud but there is an unspoken agreement that that is our goal.

The going is tough and I'm beginning to already feel the strain on my legs and shoulders. Nevertheless, I wipe the sweat gathered at my forehead and push on to keep pace with Haymitch.

Trees and rocks and ponds all pass by in a blur as we hike through the woods.

I soon get tired but don't ask Haymitch for any rests. I've gotten out of the annoying habit of asking for them and just decide to take them as they come.

It turns out that isn't long.

Three hours had pass since our last rest before we sit in a tree for another.

I poke my head out of the top of the trees and see that the strange wall of green is indeed closer. In fact, I'm willing to bet that we'll be there midafternoon by the pace we're going.

Pushing away a horrible feeling that comes with knowing every step brings us closer to the end of our alliance, I then duck back into the tree and force myself to cheerfully update Haymitch on our current situation.

He is obviously pleased with the progress report but insists we get moving.

Back on the ground and we plod through the woods.

My head begins to ache and a heavy weight is crushing down on me.

My mother had told me to say with Haymitch. Jasmine pointed out what a great team we make. Konrad kindly instructed us to keep an eye on each other. Even so, they all failed to mention what should then happen if it were to come down to the two of us.

Confused and frustrated, I know the only way is to end this alliance. Despite what they all say.

I drink some more water to cool myself and to give my head some time to cool down.

Looking around as trees pass us begins to make my head spin so I decide to look down. I focus on the sight of my foot taking a step, then another, and then another.

This goes on for about an hour before it's time for another break.

As we lounge against a tree, I am reminded of the bandage on Haymitch's neck. Curious, I turn my head towards him.

Sure enough, he is still wearing it.

"What?" he asks.

"You should really have changed that," I say nodding at his throat.

He hand goes up to it, remembering it for the first time in who knows how long. His eyes go to the knife at my side and I'm reminded of the fact that it was my knife which did that to him. Not that I wielded it at the time, of course.

"Okay," he says, taking his eyes off the knife.

His hand reaches around his neck and unties the knot holding the bandage together.

Once it is off, I am surprised by how well-healed it looks. Given the fact that he completely neglected it, I would have expected some sort of infection.

"How bad is it?" Haymitch asks.

I look from his throat to his face, giving him a small smile. "Not bad at all."

"Seriously?" he asks.

"Seriously," I reply. "Just wash away the dry blood and all that will be left is a light scar."

Sparing a little water from his bottle, Haymitch does just that.

That being done, it is time to get going again.

It's now early afternoon and we make considerably good time. I'd climb up a tree every so often, so I can say with great confidence that the time we are making is good.

As we're hiking on, I try to distract my racing mind by coming up with possible theories about what is at the end of the arena.

It's difficult because when it comes to the Gamemakers, you can never know exactly what to expect.

As my father would say, all you can do is expect the unexpected.

When I picture the end of the arena, I can't help but conjure up the silly image of a steel door, with lots of huge round bolts around the edges, placed into a rock. This rock is leaning at the very edge of the arena and leads to the outside world. Of course that isn't likely to be the case.

Rarely anything in this world is ever that simple.

Haymitch and I trudge along the woods when light up ahead catches our attention.

It is dim at first, but gets brighter by the second as we continue walking.

Excitedly, I turn to Haymitch. "Do you see that?"

"Yeah," he replies, grinning, "let's hurry."

We pick up the pace. With every step Haymitch and I take, we are that much closer to the light peeking out through the line of trees directly in front of us.

When we pass through them, my eyes are forced to adjust to the sheer intensity of direct sunlight.

Once it does, I am able to see that on the ground in front of us is a stretch of grassland that extends left to right as far as the eye can see. One metre in front of us towers a massive green hedge. This hedge also stretches left and right far out of view. I recognise it as being the thing at the end of the woods that I had constantly been looking at. By staring at it now, I can tell that climbing it isn't an option.

I can feel my hopes extinguishing. Surely we didn't walk all that way for nothing.

Absurdly, my mind brings up the image of a steel door placed into the hedge.

I actually look around, half expecting to find one.

Without a word, Haymitch kneels down and rummages through his pack. He soon comes out with the blowtorch I recognise as once belonging to Hunter.

Haymitch crosses the stretch of grass and begins using the blowtorch on the hedge.

Walking up to join him in front of the massive green wall of shrubbery, I remember his look of intense concentration as he held the blowtorch in his hand that night the log cabin caught fire.

It was odd that he would keep such an item. Now, it occurs to me that he may have had a use for it all along.

"Have you been here before, Haymitch?" I ask him, watching as he slowly burns a hole into the hedge.

"Yeah," he replies, not looking up. "I had put a good distance between the volcano and myself, when this maze of tightly woven hedges forced me to turn back to the centre of the woods."

"That's not like you to give up so easily," I tease.

Haymitch shrugs, undeterred, "There wasn't anything else I could have done at the time."

"Until you got your hands on that blowtorch," I point out.

"Right," he agrees.

I watch as he works away at the hedge with the blowtorch. Then a thought occurs to me.

"So where were you leading us before you got the blowtorch?" I ask. "You had no way of knowing how to overcome the hedge, and it wasn't until later that you finally got the means."

"I was planning to head back to the meadows and going around the volcano."

I stare at him in disbelief. "Good thing you got your hands on a blowtorch and lead us back to the other end of the arena, then."

Noticing that Haymitch is beginning to look tired, I offer to take over.

He hands me the blowtorch and sits by the hedge, leaning against it.

The hedge is a lot thicker than I had thought. Even with Haymitch and me taking turns burning a hole through it, several hours pass before we finally make it through to the other side.

I'm sitting outside, eating some rabbit by the hedge when Haymitch is calling me.

"Donner!" he calls, his voice muffled by the hedge between us.

I poke my head through the hole and can make out Haymitch on the other side.

Excitedly, I crawl through the thick hedge to where he is waiting.

Once through, I eagerly take in our surroundings.

Haymitch and I are standing on flat, dry earth where not a single blade of grass grows. There is a dusty path that leads off somewhere.

We follow the path and find that it leads to a cliff with jagged sides.

There is no possibility of climbing down it.

I peek down and can just make out sharp rocks protruding down the bottom.

There is nothing down there to see, even if there was some sort of way down.

"That's all there is, Haymitch. Let's go back," I say, forgetting that this is the end of the arena and that I had decided to end the alliance once we made it here.

It had completely slipped my mind that this is the end, seeing as I didn't get that feeling of accomplishment I thought I would.

"No, I'm staying here," Haymitch replies, staring down into the abyss of the cliff.

My heart stinks with a heavy weight and I know this is it.

It's now or never.

"All right," I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. "There's only five of us left. May as well say goodbye now, anyway."

When he doesn't say anything, I continue.

"I don't want it to come down to you and me."

"Ok," he agrees, still looking down the cliff.

I wait for a moment to see if Haymitch will turn around and just _look_ at me before I leave.

He doesn't.

I turn and walk back through the hedge.

Back on the other side, I lean against the hedge and look up to the blue sky, sighing.

 _That's it. It's over._

The moment I collect my thoughts, I walk off again.

I walk along the hedge for a while before heading back into the woods.

A small distance in and I come across a clearing.

It feels unusually empty.

Honestly, I find it hard to determine whether the actual clearing feels empty or if it's because Haymitch is no longer here.

Clearings may look empty but still teem with hidden life.

Haymitch and I had been in this arena together for such a long time its hard not to notice the disappearance of the presence of another person.

Standing in the clearing, drifting off in space, I fail to notice death descending from the sky in the form of pink birds.

Before I can react, they have me surrounded.

I see their impossibly sharp beak and recognise them as being the same birds Haymitch and I hid from once a long time ago.

Slowly I reach for my knife.

The moment my hand touches the handle, the birds all swoop in on their wings.

Unable to help myself, I scream as they begin pecking at me.

I use one hand to shoo them away and my other to draw out my knife.

Undeterred by my shooing, the candy-pink birds close in on me.

As I fight them off, my arms begin to feel heavy.

There are more mutts then I can handle, but I still manage to take several down.

I am vaguely aware of the pile of dead birds on the floor and the severe wounds the live ones inflict on me.

Pink feathers fall everywhere, causing my vision to become impaired. And yet through it all, and my frantic slashing, I see a figure emerge into the clearing.

Frightened, I continue to fend off the last of the candy-pink birds just as one manages to slip past my knife and stab me right through the neck with its long thin beak.

I freeze as pain after pain washes over me. Dropping my knife and clutching at my throat, I fall to the ground.

Their job done, the rest of the pink birds fly away. They could almost pass for flamingos if their beaks weren't all shaped wrong.

I stare up at them and vaguely register the sound of someone running to me.

Not wanting to see the tribute that was attracted by my scream and came running to finish me off, I close my eyes.

I begin to feel cold as my heart works in overdrive to frantically pump blood through my body only to have it all escape through my fingers from the hole in my throat.

"Maysilee?" a voice calls softly.

And I know that voice; had grown accustomed to hearing it for the past ten days.

Slowly I open my eyes with all the energy I can muster.

Piercing grey eyes meet my blue ones.

I open my mouth, wanting to say his name but am cut off by my own blood choking me.

Haymitch immediately tells me not to try and talk, his eyes full of concern and I know this is it.

This is where I die.

I grasp weakly at the mockingjay pin on my top with one hand, willing for him to understand without words.

It has to go to my sister; my sister who is probably watching as I die right now. My parents and Jasmine are likely watching too.

"Hey, it's okay," Haymitch is saying, putting a hand over mine to stop it fiddling. "I get it."

I stop in relief at his words and lay waiting for the inevitable.

Suddenly afraid, I twist my hand over to grab hold of his.

Surprisingly he brings his other hand up too, holding my hand with both of his. And it's oh so warm.

So full of life.

We stay like that, Haymitch remaining silent as I continue to slowly die.

He doesn't tell me that I'll be okay, that I'll survive this somehow. He doesn't bother with false comforts for which I am grateful.

I don't think I could handle it.

After what feels like hours of staying where we are, grey spots start appearing in my vision.

The spots spread slowly, the colour getting darker and darker until it becomes black.

As the blackness completely overtakes my vision, I draw my last breath.


	31. Epilogue

Epilogue

Haymitch tilts his head back and pours the entire contents of the tiny glass into his mouth.

The pure liquid burns its way down his throat and warms the pit of his stomach nicely.

He has lost count of how many shots he has had. Somewhere around the fifteen mark, he reckons.

Haymitch takes a look around the huge extravagant house and hates every little single detail about it.

He hates the colour of the expensive curtains. He hates the intricate designs carved onto the side of the posh kitchen table. He hates the ridiculous patterns on the pricey rug. But most of all he hates how he's forced to live here completely by himself.

Two weeks after he emerged the victor of the Fiftieth Hunger Games his mother, brother, and girlfriend had all met with an unfortunate accident. That's total bullshit.

They were murdered by Snow. Their only crime being they were the unfortunate few Haymitch actually cared about.

When Haymitch had found out they were dead, killed in a mysterious house fire when they were finishing packing to move into _this_ house, he had ran immediately to Konrad.

He had shown up, distraught and completely alone, on the doorstep of his mentor's house.

Konrad offered him comfort in the form of alcohol. That was the first time Haymitch ever drank.

 _Now he's dead too_ , thinks Haymitch bitterly, looking at the letter he had left behind.

Mitch,

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

By the time you read this I'll be well beyond reach. Give it twenty years and maybe – just maybe – you'll understand why I had to do what I did. You're a good kid. Don't let them break you like they did me. I'm sorry, kid, but I broke. Don't feel bad or anything. I'm with my family at last. I'm finally happy now.

– K. Stark

Haymitch crumples the paper, enraged.

 _What about_ my _family? What about Lucas? He was only thirteen!_

He pulls the knife he had buried into the table and flings it across the room. Not caring where it lands.

A glass sculptured lamp falls with a crash.

Haymitch has been in a foul mood ever since Konrad told him why Snow wanted to punish him so.

He had made the Capitol look the fool.

 _Bastard could have told me earlier!_

Haymitch then begins to think back to his gruesome and bloody battle with Ruby. And how it eventually led to the deaths of those dearest to him.

It all started when first the boy from District 3 got killed in combat. Then the older brother from Seven got eaten alive by a pack of those golden squirrels. Both died on the same day. It would be yet another day before he would confront Ruby.

She was massive, even bigger than him, and just as fast.

He took an axe to the stomach, and she lost an eye, before the monster disarmed him during their harrowing duel to the death. With nothing left to lose, he turned and headed through the woods.

Haymitch can still remember the slickly feel of his intestines trying to escape through the hand he had clamped over his stomach, desperately trying to keep it in.

She had stumbled after him, holding the axe that should have delivered his death blow.

He had made a beeline for his cliff, knowing what to do once he got there. He reached the edge of the cliff just as District 1 threw her axe. However, he collapsed to the ground before the axe could hit him. It flew uselessly into the chasm.

Ruby stood, weaponless, as he began to convulse on the ground. She tried to staunch the flow of pouring blood from her empty eye socket, thinking that she could perhaps outlive him.

But that's where she was wrong.

Because what she didn't know, and he did, was that there is a force field at the bottom of the cliff. Her axe came back and buried itself in her skull, killing her. A cannon sounded, her body retrieved, trumpets signalled his victory. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Fiftieth Hunger Games – and second Quarter Quell – Haymitch Abernathy of District Twelve!" Claudius Templesmith had said. Haymitch remembers the roar of the Capitol which was played live through the speakers.

Drinking straight out of a bottle of Smirnoff, Haymitch now thinks about how he figured out that there was a force field in the arena in the first place.

He had finally made it through the seemingly impossible hedge with the help of a blowtorch. On the other side he found a barren land. A path led to the edge of a cliff. As he skirted its edge, thinking of his next move – now that he has seen the end of the arena – he accidently dislodged a pebble.

Tired, he had sat down to rest. A minute passed and suddenly the small rock had come back up to land beside him. Intrigued, he had stared at it first in confusion before he took on a more intense expression, remembering something.

Wanting to test his theory, he found a rock the size of his fist and threw it over the cliff. One minute went by before that same rock flew back and landed in his hand. He had laughed.

That was when he heard the scream; heard _her_ scream.

The image of sapphire blue eyes suddenly appears before Haymitch.

Those mesmerising blue eyes which had kept him grounded and sane in the arena for so long.

 _Maysilee..._

His mind still clouded, Haymitch drops the Smirnoff and stumbles upstairs. He enters his lavish room and pulls open a draw from his bedside table.

He reaches in and pulls out a golden pin.

Haymitch had promised her that he would return it to her sister, but he hasn't been able to bring himself to just yet.

He didn't think he was ready to handle seeing someone who looked just like her. And then, of course, as he had finally worked up enough courage to visit a certain sweetshop he had been stopped and told of the fire that had consumed his old Seam house.

As drunk as he currently is, Haymitch can't see anymore point in putting it off.

So getting up from the soft silky covers of his bed - he can't even remember ever having sat down - he staggers back into the hallway.

It's lit by a too bright crystal chandelier and Haymitch is wishing he had another knife to throw at it.

Somehow he manages to make it downstairs without falling and breaking his neck.

He opens the front door and is assaulted by the flurry of snow blowing in the wind. Ignoring it, Haymitch steps out and closes the door behind him. He walks down the paved path that leads out of Victor's Village and makes his way into town.

End

 **Author's note: Well that's it. Thank you all so much for following the story all the way through.**


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